


Bialya

by brejamison



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Titans (TV 2018)
Genre: Airplane Crashes, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Badass Bruce Wayne, Badass Jason Todd, Badass dick grayson - Freeform, Bialya, Blood and Torture, Bruce Wayne is Trying, Bruce Wayne is a Bad Parent, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Canon-Typical Violence, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Gen, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt Jason Todd, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason swears a lot, Major Character Injury, Mild Sexual Content, Panic Attacks, Rachel is a witch, Stranded in the desert, Torture, Violence, Whump, and Dick is a creep magnet, and also lots of hurt, and it's necessary a lot, dick swears sometimes, kind of, lots of badassery, only when necessary tho, thank god for kori, the boys are not okay, the villain is a creep yo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:35:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 44,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22887931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brejamison/pseuds/brejamison
Summary: In which Dick is called away for some routine Wayne Family business. It's nothing more than glorified housekeeping, but Jason insists on coming anyway. And there’s another problem: it’s supposed to take place in Bialya, the blood-thirsty desert country out East. The Robins never make it, though, as their jet is brought down just South of the border. Stranded in the middle of the Kuratan desert, Dick and Jason must survive the harsh wilderness, enemy ambushes, and extensive injuries if they’re going to make it out alive.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Garfield Logan, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Koriand'r & Garfield Logan & Raven, Dick Grayson & Raven, Dick Grayson/Koriand'r, Garfield Logan & Raven, Koriand'r & Raven (DCU)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 207





	1. Prologue

**TITANS TOWER  
SAN FRANCISCO**

Dick hung up the phone, slapping it rather rudely against the island countertop. Which, to be fair, was treating it a hell of a lot nicer than he wanted to. He braced against the wood, head bowed and if only glares could burn a hole through fine cedar. Too bad he didn't have heat vision like Clark.

Kori was leaning a safe distance away against the pillar, having listened intently to the heated conversation. "So, you're going?"

Dick chuckled darkly. "Of course, I'm going." Launching off the counter he paced in agitation, hands fisting his dark hair. "Not like the old man gave me any choice!"

"Dick." She stepped forward, pressing her large palm to his chest. "You _always_ have a choice."

He huffed angrily, chewing on his lips. "Really feels like I don't. Not this time."

"What's he want the land for, anyway?" she asked, rounding the island and pulling out a bottle of whiskey from the cabinets. Normally, Dick preferred the more refined alcohol while she leaned towards what would make her drunk fast. Some mountain whiskey was a good compromise.

"I don't know," he sighed, landing roughly on one of the barstools. Kori grabbed two drinking glasses, filling them generously. "Some conservation project or something. He's worried about another bloody war starting between Bialya and Kurat and wants to ensure that land stays privately owned so no one can fight on it."

She slid his glass to him. "Sounds very humanitarian," she commented, clinking the cups together before taking a long swig of the copper liquid.

He raised his in a lazy toast, throwing back a mouthful. "Yeah on the outside."

"You think he has ulterior motives?"

"Since when does Bruce _not_ have ulterior motives? Just watch, he's going wait until this war is over and done with, and then once all the dust has settled and they've destroyed each other enough this time around, he's going to come waltzing in, the white savior, and magically have this pristine parcel of land, just waiting for the highest bidder." He chugged down another gulp. "Or worse."

"Worse?"

Dick grabbed the bottle, filling his glass to the rim. "Bastard actually goes and makes it a goddamn nature preserve."

Kori snorted into her drink, droplets of amber raining down from above. He glared at her.

"I'm sorry. I am. I just, would it really bother you _that_ much if he did something decent for the good of humanity once in a while?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

He looked away.

She nodded, chewing on her lips knowingly. "Because then you'd have to acknowledge that he really can, be a decent man, deep down somewhere past all the leather and clown punching." He sent her a look and she allowed it. "Sometimes."

He sighed, the whiskey settling like a warm coal in his belly, draining the fight from him. Don't misunderstand, he was still plenty pissed and would be sure to make Bruce painfully aware of that fact, but he was also leader of the Titans. He was a hero and had a whole gaggle of socially stunted and superpowered kids to look after. And Jason. He didn't have room for temper tantrums. At least not until he was in his room, alone save the company of Old Reliable the punching bag.

"It's not that."

Kori gave him a look over the rim of her glass.

"It's not _just_ that. I can't just pack up and leave at his every beck and call." He sat back on the stool, throwing an arm out. "My place is here, with all of you. And what if the Titans need me while I'm gone? Rachel is working on her teleportation, Gar can successfully transform into five different mammals now and is working on birds, and Jason..."

His girlfriend eyed him, surprised. "What about Jason?"

Dick sighed, blowing it out through his lips. "Jason is _Jason_. Rowdy and unpredictable and..." He stood, capping the bottle and stashing it away. "And how do you think he's going to take this? Me flying back for Wayne Family business and him not invited?”

She went to answer, but he cut her off

"He's going to be livid, that's how. He's going to argue and yell and go on and on about how he's a real son of Bruce's too now. How he should be just as important as I am, get all the same treatment, yadda yadda yadda."

Kori dropped her glass, the whiskey forgotten, and gave Dick a parental look. "You don't know that. Maybe he'll surprise you."

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

Jason was livid.

"What do you mean he wants you and not me?" he growled angrily. Dick scrubbed at his face with one hand, the other arm crossed in front of him. He had found Jason in the training room doing some weight training and wanted to tell him privately before breaking the news to the others. And this was exactly why.

So far, he had yelled all forms of abuse, called Dick and Bruce names the former had to admit were surprisingly creative albeit absurdly crude, and wondered what he had ever done to deserve such torturous and unfair treatment. All in all, it was going about as well as could be expected.

At least he hadn't thrown anything yet.

Yelling, Jason picked up a weight, hucking it across the room. It crashed into the num-chuk display, toppling the whole set to the floor.

Well, at least it hadn't broken.

Unsatisfied, Jason stomped over, grabbing the weight again and smashing it onto the wooden rack. It splintered into pieces.

Well, at the very least he had shown enough restraint to not hurt himself.

Still huffing and puffing, the kid yelled something about how it wasn't fair and pulled his leg back, winding up to break a toe or two on the metal weapons.

Okay, that's enough.

"Hey!" Dick shouted. He broke pose and rushed over, grabbing the kid by the forearm. "That's enough!"

Jason tore from his grip, stumbling away. "Step off, man! This doesn't concern you!"

The older Robin laughed at him. "Uh, yeah, I kind of think it does."

"You aren't my fight here. So back off before you become part of it."

Dick sighed. "Jason, look…”

"No! I don't want to hear it!" the teen shouted, storming to the showers.

Something inside Dick started to bubble, like a pressure cooker about to burst. He blamed the whiskey. "Well, that's too damn bad because you're going to!"

Jason froze in the doorway, rolling his neck. Slowly, meticulously, he turned, leveling Dick with a glare that would have downed a lesser man. But never a Robin. He gestured impatiently. "I'm waiting."

Dick straightened. "This is not about Bruce not recognizing you as a son. You are as much a son to him as I am, trust me. That's just the way he operates. He asked me to do this and not you because the paper has to be signed by two family members – Bruce and someone else. And on paper, I am the closest he has to a living relative."

Jason rolled his eyes, not buying it. “Oh, please. He adopted you."

"No, he _fostered_ me. There’s a difference. Legally, I was his ward, not his kid." He remembered the night Bruce had mentioned adoption. It was casual, presented as an afterthought and in no way meant to pressure Dick into accepting. Which was good, because he had turned it down immediately. Bruce was nice and all, but Dick was a Grayson through and through and no one was going to take that from him. "For this, though," he continued, "they'll make an exception and accept ward, only because he has no one else. No spouse, no blood children--"

"But Alfred--"

"Legally, only the butler. A servant of the house. He has no status in the eyes of the law when it comes to Bruce beyond that." He made a face at the teen. "Do you understand, now? It's not about Bruce picking favorites or the old patriarchal inheritance system or anything like that. It is strictly legal. Get it?"

Jason turned away, picking at an old scuff on the mat with his foot.

"Jason?"

"Yeah, I get it, okay? Jesus, you don't have to beat me over the head with it."

Dick looked relieved. "Good. Because I need you to understand, my relationship with Bruce... it's complicated. I really can't describe it beyond that. And the only reason I am doing this, the _only reason_ he even asked me, was because he had no other choice."

"You saying you don't want to go?"

"Like hell I want to go. Drag my ass halfway around the world just to sign some paper for a piece of land Bruce is probably going to turn into a goddamn nature preserve or something as soon as I'm wheels up? No thanks."

Jason frowned, looking very much like he was missing something and he knew it. "Wouldn't a nature preserve be a good thing, though?"

"Oh my _god_ that is so not the point!"

"Look, it's fine, dude, whatever. Go have your father-son bonding weekend out in the middle of the desert somewhere. Go get heatstroke and bruise your balls riding some camel, for all I care. Just leave me out of it." He grinned tightly, eyebrows raised as he gave Dick a delicate goodbye that looked an awful lot like telling him to get lost.

The older Robin crossed his arms tightly, settling onto the mat. "Funny you should say that," he began, hollering over the sound of a shower. "I was considering asking if you wanted to come. But I guess you aren’t interested, then."

Wally West wished he could move as fast as Jason had just then, skidding to a stop in the doorway an instant later. He found Dick staring back at him, fully and totally expecting that kind of reaction. Still, he couldn't be bothered, standing there butt naked, soaking wet, and with Dick Grayson asking him on a father-son bonding weekend.

"What?" he asked smartly.

"It'll only be for the weekend. We leave early tomorrow, get back late Sunday. There and back. Nothing exciting, nothing out of the ordinary."

Jason wasn't sure who he was trying to convince because, quite frankly, if Dick wanted to go to the middle of Siberia to watch paint dry - so long as he branded it as bonding - Jason was in.

He shrugged. "Yeah, sure, whatever. Sounds dope, I guess."

Dick was clearly not convinced and had the audacity to look humored by it. "So you’re coming?”

Jason threw his hands into the air with a loud groan. “Yes! Okay, fine, I’ll come! Just stop bugging me about it, god.”

Dick smirked knowingly and glancing around the training room. “Well no one's going anywhere until you clean up all of this mess."

Jason blew a raspberry at him. "What, this? No, this, this is nothing."

"Good. Wheels up at 0500."

"Yes, sir."

"And Jason?"

"Yo?"

Dick nodded pointedly.

"Put some pants on."

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

The rest of the Titans took the news well enough - not that Jason had set the bar particularly high. The only even slightly perturbed one was Gar who was dreading being stranded alone in the middle of Ladies Weekend. That is, until Dick told him that if he kept training every day like he was supposed to and kept up his chores, he could have unlimited screen time.

"You sure that's a good idea?" Kori asked, watching the boy scramble off to his room, cheering excitedly.

Dick shrugged, giving her a trademark mischievous smirk. "Why not? And what do I care, I'm not going to be here."

The woman sighed, pushing her hair back from her face. "Fine, but if Rachel and I have to suffer the wrath of a sleep-deprived beast boy for even a moment, I am flying to Bialya and dragging you back here by the ass myself," she threatened sweetly, sidling up to his personal space.

"Oh? That so?" he purred back, lowering his mouth to hers.

"That's a promise."

"Well..." He stole a quick kiss from her, backing up enough to drink in her eyes. They were intoxicating. "I better hurry and get out of here then, or you aren't gonna have anywhere to pull my ass from."

"I guess so." She leaned in for another kiss, this one lingering longer. Dick inhaled, taking a long whiff of her scent. It would be a whole weekend before he got to smell it again.

He frowned, pulling back. She blinked at him in confusion.

"Are you wearing something new?"

She chuckled, pushing her hair back as he stepped away. "Yeah, they were out of my regular stuff and I was feeling a little experimental."

His confusion only deepened. "What store runs out of perfume?"

"You clearly haven't been shopping in the makeup aisle recently," she laughed, handing him his bag. He took it, flashing her a grateful grin.

"Hey." He snatched her arm, causing her to pause. "I'll be back, soon, okay? Hold down the fort for me?"

"And keep the bed warm. Always." She winked, and he released her warm skin. "You boys have fun out there,” she and Rachel waved from the hallway. "Don't fall for any of those wild desert mirages."

"Bring me back something," Rachel demanded sweetly. Dick paused, thinking it over.

"How about a real-life jar of 100% genuine Bialyan sand? Because that's about all we're going to be seeing for the next two days."

The girl made a face. "Gross. Aren't there gonna be, like, airports or something at least?"

"Nah," Jason interrupted, flinging his backpack over his shoulder. "The Big B is hooking us up private. First-class all the way."

Kori flashed Dick a concerned look and he sighed because damnit, Jason, he wasn't exactly planning on mentioning that part. He looked at his girlfriend sheepishly. "I didn't want to say anything."

Rachel caught on quick. She always did these days. "Wait, so there aren't going to be _any_ airports nearby? What if something happens? What're you going to do?"

Dick squeezed her shoulder. "Nothing is going to happen to us. It's a simple in and out."

He planted a kiss on the top of her head, leaning behind her to Kori. "I'm sorry for not telling you about the plane." A quick peck on the lips did little to ease the worried look on her face.

She huffed finally, sighing. "Fine. Go. Get out of here before I change my mind."

He loved her and all of her anxieties. "Thanks. Love you both!"

"See yah!" Jason waved, grabbing his suitcase and following Dick into the elevator.

"Bye! Be careful!" Rachel waved. She cupped her hands to either side of her mouth as the doors started to close. "Don't forget to bring me something!"

Dick glanced up from shoving Jason's bag off his, flashing them a quick wave as the doors slid shut.

Kori pulled in a breath. So, this was really happening. Her boyfriend was taking one of their kids to literally the middle of the desert for a whole weekend, with no civilization, definitely no cell reception, on the border to two countries already loudly gnashing their teeth at each other.

She clapped, looking down at Rachel, who turned to her expectantly. "So! What do we want to do first? Eat ourselves sick with ice cream or watch horrible movies?"

"Both?"

She felt like she couldn't catch her breath, her nervousness over the whole putrid situation crawling under her skin like ants. It wasn't the first time Dick had gone off on his own somewhere and if she didn't want to live her life as a nervous mess, she would have to accept that it wouldn't be the last time either. Still, something about it didn't sit right with her, like static cling in the air before a storm.

Grinning, she ruffled Rachel's hair, loving the curls she was rocking these days.

They would be fine. They had to be, or she would kill them. Starting with Bruce Wayne himself.

"My thoughts exactly!"

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

**NORTHERN KURAT  
ONE DAY LATER**

Jason was shoved roughly into a large tent, the soldiers behind him forcing him to his knees. He snarled at them, tugging at the cuffs around his wrists and taking in the interior with the square room. A man with thick sunglasses was sitting behind a messy table, reclining comfortably and hands steepled. His uniform read YAZIM.

"The hell are you supposed to be?" Jason spat just to break the silence. The man hardly reacted, slowly raising a hand to shush him. Jason glared at him. "Hey, if I'm interrupting your nap I can always come back later. I'll just go my way and you can go fuck yourself."

A smile pulled at Yazim's lips, a grin splitting his face apart in slow motion. It displayed his golden teeth and Jason made a face. 

Suddenly a second pair of tent flaps opened and two more soldiers stomped in, dragging Dick limply between them.

"Dick!" Jason lunged at him, firm hands keeping him in place.

Dick collapsed heavily to his knees, head hung low. The older Robin swayed unsteadily, head rolling in some unheard rhythm. The bruises on his face stood out in stark contrast to the red sand covering his skin thickly. He still seemed plenty braindead, apparently having not recovered from their getting captured earlier.

Yazim's chair screeched along the floor and Jason’s whipped around to find the man standing suddenly on his feet. In a few purposeful strides, he was rounding the table. He stopped and looked at them, thoughts hidden behind his dark glasses. But Jason didn’t need to see his eyes to recognize the hunger churning within him, pointed right at Dick. Be it sadistic or more of a carnal nature, Jason didn’t know. He also didn’t care because like hell this predator was getting anywhere near his friend.

“Hey, asshole! Yeah, that’s right. I’m talking to you, you prick!” Jason jutted out his chin. “You wanna go, dirtbag?” He jerked at the men at his shoulders. “Why don’t you uncuff me and I’ll show you a time like you ain’t never seen before!” Slowly, Yazim started to turn to him. Jason nodded, watching excitedly. “Yeah. Yeah, come and get some, dickweed.”

The man's boot swiftly connected with Dick's stomach.

Jason was at his feet in an instant, the soldiers scrambling to secure him. "Don’t you touch him!" he snarled, spitting a variety of curses. Watching Jason carefully, the man reached down and grabbed a generous handful of Dick’s hair. He lifted, revealing Dick’s downturned face to the room.

Jason howled in rage, flailing wildly. “I said don’t touch him! Get your hands off, you creep! You sick bastard,” the teen seethed hotly. "You lay one more finger on him and I swear to god I will shove my boot so far up your ass you'll be shitting gold teeth for weeks!”

Yazim straightened. He continued to hold Dick’s head perfectly still and upright, the other man’s eyes lazing about the room. He was fading, and fast, and Jason shuddered to think how much longer he had left.

The teen mirrored Yazim’s pose, straightening his back, squaring his shoulders, and narrowing his eyes into a challenging glare. “Bring it on, asshole,” he grinned, giving the general his best _come at me bro_ glare.

The man regarded him for a minute. Then punched Dick hard in the stomach.

“ _NO!_ ” Jason shrieked. Kicking and lunging, he spat curses and called names, thrashing in hot rage at Yazim, their situation, hell, this whole damn desert deserved his wrath.

Yazim flicked his hand and Jason was being dragged backward out of the tent.

“No! Get back here! Don’t you fucking touch him!”

Last thing he saw before the flaps closed was the man smirking hungrily down at Dick, golden teeth glinting in the lamplight.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dick and Jason meet the Soaring Casanova and her crew, bond over La Croix, crash into the middle of the desert, and explode.

**PRIVATE AIRPORT  
SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA**

Jason whistled at the jet. Like, actually _whistled_. Out loud and everything. Dick watched him as they approached, enjoying the chorus line of different emotions dancing across the teen’s face. He absently wondered if he had worn a similar expression when Bruce had first introduced him to the shiny toys.

"Pretty sweet, right?" he teased. Dick couldn't lie. As many grudges as he held against his not-quite-father - and he was trying to get over them, he really was, the trip back to Gotham helped soothe out a lot of unsightly wrinkles - even he had to admit: Bruce knew how to fly.

"She's a [Cessna Citation V](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cessna_Citation_V). Fits 7 to 8, has a wingspan of about 52 feet, is equipped with a fully stocked bar. Which..!" He pointed to the suddenly very excited teen at his side. " _You_ will not be using. And it can reach speeds of up to Mach 0.75."

Jason frowned at him. "That doesn't sound very fast."

Dick smirked in that all-knowing way of his. "Tell that to your lunch once we take off. And to our pilots." He grinned professionally as they approached the two crew members, who were doing checks to the craft. The shorter of them, a strongly built Asian woman, noticed them and quickly approached.

"Mr. Grayson," she greeted stoically, offering a professional hand.

Dick shook it exactly twice. "Captain Xiun?"

"Affirmative."

"This is Jason Todd. I know he’s a last-minute addition, but I believe you were contacted about him accompanying me?"

She shook Jason's hand. "Maddie Xiun. I was. It's not a problem." Snapping to attention, she looked Dick in the eyes. Despite being almost an entire head shorter than the man, she seemed to tower above him. "I believe you are familiar with the _Soaring Casanova_?"

Dick readjusted the back slung over his shoulder. "I’ve flown Cessna’s before."

"Good. Normally, I escort my passengers for a quick informational tour of the craft, but seeing as we are already behind schedule, I hope it's acceptable to skip the formalities and begin boarding."

Dick nodded, agreeing with her request. “Fine with me.”

Jason raised his hand.

They ignored him. “I’ll fill him in once we’re on board.”

"Good. Gentleman." She motioned to the jet, Dick and Jason taking the lead.

They were introduced to the copilot, an elderly Steve Pike, who looked like he did this because he couldn't handle anything faster than Mach 2 nowadays and Wayne Enterprises was an easy way to coast into retirement.

"She seems nice," Jason poked, nodding to Xiun.

Dick shrugged. "Former military. Hired for this flight."

The teen frowned. "I thought Bruce usually hired within?"

"Most of the time. Guess this was a last-minute staff change. I just got the heads up a couple of hours ago."

"Weird."

"Try not to stress too much over it."

Jason scoffed at him, taking lead up the stairs. "Bold of you to assume I'm going to be stressing over anything when there's a fully stocked bar."

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

The inside of the plane was just as beautiful as the outside, with four rows of chairs, alternating direction so they could face each other in snug little pairs. The middle two rows had small tables between them and were cemented to that position. The remaining four, as Jason enthusiastically discovered, could swivel 360°, allowing them to face any direction. The floor was polished and the chairs comfortable. The only problem was the ceiling, low enough to force all 6'0" of Dick to twist his neck uncomfortably in order to stand up straight, even at the apex of the dome.

He caught Jason staring at him, already hating that shit-eating grin of his.

"Knock it off," he whined, dropping a metal case onto one of the small tables. Table meant legroom, so Jason could have the twisty four chairs all he wanted. Which was actually a good trade-off, seeing as he doubted the teen would be able to sit still in them otherwise.

They stored their luggage in the back of the plane, locking it up in the small kitchenette. Xiun and Pike had disappeared into the cockpit, preparing to taxi to the runway.

Dick reclined comfortably, hands folded in his lap, legs outstretched and crossed politely at the ankles. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, burrowing as deep into the expensive leather as he could. Eyes shut, head tilted back, he looked the pinnacle of relaxation, ready to doze smoothly into blissful darkness that was sleep for the next however long it took to get to Bialya.

"So cool."

And then there was Jason. He squeezed cross-legged into a chair on the opposite wall, twisting this way and that to get it to spin. Finally getting it to face the window, he snapped the screen up, squinting at the outside world.

Dick squinted as the sun shone directly into his eyes. He shielded them, looking up to glare at the teen. "Dude."

"What?" A vague gesture. Luckily, Jason was great at reading passive-aggressive body language and quickly caught on. "Oh, sorry." He shut the screen again.

"Thank you." Another inhale. Another exhale. Dick settled into the chair, feeling his limbs grow heavy as he started to float away--

"There are so many drinks back here!"

Goddamnit, Jason.

The teen emerged from the back of the cabin, proudly clutching a bottle of _something_ in either hand. "Yo, Dick, do you prefer red or white? Or whatever this is?"

"I prefer the whiskey I already had plenty of yesterday, thank you. Got put those back. You aren't getting any either."

"Aw come on, man! I'm fifteen!"

Dick frowned loudly. "Yeah, fifteen. Barely half the legal drinking age."

Jason pouted, trudging to the back. "Half the legal age is ten and a half..." he muttered sourly.

"Oh, dear god give me strength," Dick prayed to his palms as he covered his face against the cruelties of the world. And Jason.

"I just don't get why I can't have a little.” Jason was still whining. “You know, the drinking age is a lot lower in some states if there's an adult present.”

"It's lower by three years and that's only if the adult is the minor's legal guardian."

The teen huffed, crossing his arms as he plopped into a chair at the very back of the cabin.

Dick snapped at him. "Uh-uh. Get up here."

"What?"

He waved his arm in the aisle, motioning forward. "Move up here. You aren't sitting back there where I can't see you."

Jason shrugged. "So move."

"Jason!"

The teen shot to his feet, hands raised. "Fine, whatever. Jesus. It's not like I've never had a drink before."

Xiun’s voice crackled to life over the speaker. And thank god too because diving into exactly which shitbag had allowed an extremely young Jason Todd to consume alcohol was not a conversation Dick could emotionally handle. Ever.

Their pilot was all business, informing them of the weather conditions - which were good and would shave off about three hours of flight time. They were stopping halfway to refuel, though, but she informed them it wouldn't cause any major delays. They were still expecting a flight duration of about eighteen hours.

Jason's eyes shot open. "Eighteen hours?!"

Dick, eyes still closed, nodded once. "It would be longer if we didn't have the slipstream. Usually takes passenger about twenty-one."

"Holy shit..." the teen gasped, lowering into his chair.

"We're going to the other side of the world; how long did you think it was going to take?"

"You think I've ever flown international before?"

The older Robin shrugged noncommittally.

Xiun was still talking, about what, though, Jason didn't really care. In hindsight, he guessed an eighteen-hour flight made sense. The math never did feel quite right; an entire weekend just to fly somewhere and sign a paper? Seemed like overkill, even for Bruce.

She finished with the emergency procedures in the event of a sudden loss of cabin pressure or crash landing, neither of which soothed Jason's overactive imagination.

The plane jerked suddenly and he clutched at his seat, startled.

"Wait,” Dick said slowly. “You've never _flown_ before, have you?"

_"We are now taxing onto the runway for takeoff. Take your seats and return your chairs to the upright position."_

There was a long pause as the jet quieted, engines going still. Jason almost wondered if they had accidentally been turned off.

“Jason?”

He twisted and glared at Dick. "What do you think?"

The all-knowing grin was back. Jason was really starting to hate that all-knowing grin. "Remember when you said Mach 0.75 wasn't that fast?"

Jason looked back at him, suddenly extraordinarily nervous. "Yeah? So?"

Dick remained rudely silent, eyes once again slipped closed. That damned smirk never faltered.

"So?" Jason bit at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

The engines outside suddenly revved to life, sounding like mechanical tornadoes right outside his window. Jason yanked the screen up and looked out, staring in anxiety. "Dick! What does that mean?"

The engines exploded, the plane jolting forward like a racehorse out the gate.

For just a second, not even a moment, barely long enough to even register the passing of time at all, Jason thought he could taste colors.

He might've screamed, he wasn't even sure.

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

**NORTHERN KURAT  
35,000 FT**

The flight was long, the air was choppy, the plane was cramped, and Jason hadn't exactly breathed in the last twelve hours. He pressed himself into his chair, leg bouncing and hands constantly fidgeting with the window screen to his left. Up and down. Back up and back down. At least they were almost there. He looked out and saw nothing but red desert, the sun high on the horizon.

"That's not going to make the view magically change."

Dick was next to him suddenly, offering a white pill and bottle of water.

Jason slammed the screen shut and turned to him. "I _know_ that!" He took the pill and water, accepting them even as he asked what they were.

"Dramamine. Will help with motion sickness. And nerves," Dick informed, stalking back to his chair. He had woken hours ago, his three-hour sleep quota sufficiently filled. He’d be good for the next two days on that much. His Sat Nav equipped laptop was on the table at his knees, nestled snuggly into its stainless-steel case. He was typing away at it.

Jason threw back the pill, downing it with several generous gulps of water. It settled in his gut and he glanced at the window, deciding if he really needed to see what was outside or if he could stop being a baby because _you're on a plane, flying very, very high, at very high speeds, surrounded by nothing but unforgiving desert, get over it._

He slammed it open again.

Needing to stretch his legs, he peeled himself out of the soft leather, sauntering shakily over to Dick as his legs remembered how to function. "Can't leave them alone for even a day, huh?" he teased, assuming the older Robin was spying on the Titans back home. Which wouldn't surprise him; it's not like Jason himself hadn't spent the last twelve hours wishing he was anywhere else but here.

Instead, Dick shook his head. "Researching our pilot, actually."

"Xiun? Why?"

The man squinted in thought as if the answer was just out of sight. "I'm not sure. Something about it doesn't feel right. The last-minute staff change…”

The plane shook again.

“…That,” he pointed out. She had informed them that the conditions would be operable before they left. It was supposed to be smooth sailing, so how come they were fighting through so much turbulence?

Jason leaned forward, staring intently into Dick’s large eyes. "You know paranoia is a symptom of alcohol poisoning."

"I’m not drunk. And I’m not scared of flying; used to do it with Bruce all the time, especially out to the West Coast during Winter."

"You mean the tower?"

"Well, before it was Titans Tower it was just any other penthouse with a billionaire’s view. Somewhere we could defrost from Gotham winters. Bruce had business out there too, so I took it upon myself to make it feel a little like home."

Jason hummed. "Yeah, complete with a home gym, like, so many punching bags, and an empty picture frame hanging on the wall in a certain bedroom."

Dick was too distracted typing to care if he revealed something secret or not. He knew what Jason was referring to, of course. Thanks to his [most recent depressive episode](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22783012), his room had been invaded by some very concerned underage citizens. And he did, indeed, have an empty frame displayed proudly on his wall.

"I used to have a poster of my parents,” he explained. “The Flying Graysons back before everything happened."

"What happened to it?"

"Had to leave it in Detroit back when I met Rachel. Didn’t exactly have time to pack the nonessentials when we were running from mysterious cultists who wanted her dead."

"So you left it behind?"

"Didn't have a choice."

"Huh. Sucks, dude. I'm sorry."

Dick finally glanced up at him. "Don't be. I don't need a poster."

"Says the man with an empty frame hanging on his wall."

"I just like to have _something_ , is all. So long as there's something there to remind me of them, I'm good. Look, I am a little busy right now. Can we talk about this later?"

Jason surrendered, hands in the air. "Alright, fine. Whatever."

The plane gave another shudder and he collapsed in the seat opposite Dick, all jagged elbows and shaking fingers clutching at the leather.

Dick was watching him over the top of the case. "Dramamine hasn't kicked in yet?"

"Unless it makes you really fucking not calm, no." The teen climbed unsteadily to his feet. "I'm getting a drink."

"Jason--"

"Of water! Or coke or some of that boujee-ass soda water all you rich hipsters drink."

Dick frowned. "La Croix?"

"Yes!" the teen responded, already halfway to the back. "That!"

"I do _not_ drink La Croix."

He emerged juggling a trio of cans, shrugging off Dick's insistence that he was not a boujee-ass rich hipster. "Whatever, man."

Dick looked like he wanted to say something else, but finally decided on a soft glare, turning back to his computer. "At least _I_ eat leftovers."

“Leftovers are disgusting!" Jason dumped the cans onto the table, spinning them so the labels faced forward. "Everything gets all soggy and gross."

"That's called absorbing the flavors."

"That's called inedible." He selected a can, offering it to Dick, who waved him off.

"Maybe later."

It cracked open with a pop and Jason slurped at its contents noisily. "Find anything yet?"

"Actually..." After a few swift keystrokes, Dick nodded to the window. "Do you see anything outside?"

Jason slid the screen up and peered out. "Sand. Lots and lots of sand."

"Nothing north?"

Uhhhh, Jason picked a direction and inspected it carefully. "Nope."

"That's what I was afraid of."

"What do you mean?"

He checked his watch. "We're about four hours out. We should be seeing the capital of Bialya by now, or at least one of the Southern palaces. Even this far out we should be seeing some sort of civilization."

"So..." Jason fidgeted nervously. "What? We're off course?"

"We're flying above Kurat. We better not be off course." He stood, slapping the case closed. "I'm going to go check the cockpit. Maybe--"

"You're a little paranoid?"

He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "I think Bruce has been played."

Jason very much did not like the sound of that. Bruce was usually the one playing the games, never getting played. Jason had never seen him on the receiving end - at least, not unknowingly. He seemed to know what everyone around him was thinking all the time. It had unnerved the teen at the beginning, to be so easily read and understood, but he eventually found a kind of solace in the honesty that kind of understanding forces out of a person.

Before Dick could make it halfway to the cabin, however, the speaker clicked on, Xiun's voice filling the cabin. _“Return to your seat, Mr. Grayson."_

Jason's blood ran cold and he made a move to stand.

"Stay put," Dick commanded coolly. He stared at the cabin door. "What are you doing, Xiun?"

 _"Something that should have been done a long time ago."_ Her normal voice was gone, replaced with a thick accent that was undeniable.

"You're from Kurat,” Duck surmised breathlessly. He held his ground, posture stiffening defensively.

_"Your kind is a blight to humanity, Mr. Grayson. Pretending your blood money can solve the problems of people who don't want your help."_

Dick turned, eyes inspecting the cabin of the plane. Jason was perched in his chair, ready and waiting orders. "We don't want to involve ourselves in the conflict between your people and the Bialyans." He mouthed _life vests_ to Jason, the younger nodding and bolting off to investigate. Dick continued: "We are trying to conserve ancient land and minimize bloodshed."

_"We do not want your help! The cleansing of Bialyan blood will happen, whether you white Americans will it or not!"_

Dick thought now wasn't the right time to mention he was actually a quarter Romani so he kept that to himself.

Jason hissed at him and he turned, confused to find the younger Robin shaking his head, hands empty. That wasn't right. It was federal law that all airplanes had to be fully equipped with safety equipment in case of...

"She's going to crash the plane."

"She's going to _what_ now?" Jason paled, grabbing the seats on either side of him for support as the plane tipped forward suddenly. "She’s going to crash the plane!"

"Relax," Dick commanded harshly. Jason gulped and nodded. Okay. This was fine. He could handle this.

"What're you gonna do?"

"I'm working on it."

Jason couldn't handle this. "Oh, _fuck_ ," he moaned. "Oh fuck, oh shit!"

Dick ignored him, having dragged himself to the cockpit. He shouldered the door forcefully, testing its strength. "Xiun! Don't do this!" He inspected the corners of the frame, looking for a weak point. "It won't solve anything!"

A hail of bullets exploded through the door, making Dick yelp and dive to the floor.

_"That is exactly the point!"_

"...Dick?" He turned back. Jason was staring out the window, no doubt watching the ground approach them way too quickly for their immediate health.

Sirens started blaring throughout the plane, oxygen masks dropping from the ceiling. Dick scrambled for one, only to find the airbag slashed through.

Damnit, she was thorough.

He tossed it aside. He could feel Jason staring at him, the teen's brain misfiring on all cylinders. Not that Dick blamed him - he was barely holding it together he was almost twice Jason's age, three times more experienced.

"What're we gonna do?" the teen squeaked out.

The ground was coming fast. Their ears popped with the rapid change in altitude, making them feel ill.

Dick panted, mind whirling like a roulette wheel. It came up empty.

But he had to do something. He bolted forward, grabbing a seat in the back of the plane near Jason. "Seatbelt," he instructed, and Jason snapped to attention, hands fumbling with the strap. Dick looked at his own belt, still unfastened.

There wasn't time.

Damnit.

He lurched forward, grabbing Jason's belt and snapping it closed. He yanked it tight, cradling the boy's face in his hands. "Head down, between your knees. Don't clench." Jason nodded.

Dick stood and the younger Robin nearly went blind with panic.

"Wait!" He latched onto Dick's sleeve. "What about you?!"

"I'm going to try the cockpit again. Pike is still in there."

"Dick, no! Screw Pike! Sit down!"

"If I can get to the controls, I can maybe at least soften the landing."

"Don't be a moron!" He squeezed.

Before Dick could decide, the plane crashed into the sand. The Robins were thrown forward as it skidded along the ground, grinding violently.

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

**NORTHERN KURAT  
UNKNOWN DISTANCE FROM THE BORDER**

Jason groaned, frowning as hot orange sunlight stabbed into his eyes. Slowly, he uncurled and raised a hand, blocking the harsh light. As consciousness came back, he peeled his eyes open, taking in his surroundings. He was still secured to the seat, albeit at an upward angle. The whole plane had ended up titled in the sand, nose tipping forward at a dramatic angle. Gasping, he fumbled with his belt. God, his hands hurt. His arms hurt too, and his neck, but that seemed to be the worst of it.

He found the buckle and braced himself. At the angle the plane was at, he was pretty sure once he fell, he wouldn't be climbing back up. It unclicked and gravity pulled at him. He stumbled, slamming clumsily into the chair in front of him. Bracing against it, he had to take a moment and catch his breath.

Okay. First assessment totally wrong. Everything hurt. He was stiff and sore and needed to do a more proper checkup and soon, but instincts were screaming at him to _get out of the plane_. At least for now, to properly assess their situation. Just until they could figure out what they were going to do next.

They.

Oh, shit.

"Dick?" he wheezed, not quite oriented enough to look around. It would be great if the world could stop spinning for _two damn seconds_. "Dick!" he called again, finally forcing his eyes open.

Moron. Idiot. He totally got himself killed in that stupid hero move. Totally deserved it too.

Jason shifted, kicking at something as he started feeling his legs again. "Don't be dead!"

"Not dead..." Dick grunted back quietly.

"Good!" Jason shot back. "Because I would've killed you otherwise."

About halfway down the cabin, Dick appeared. He had his legs tangled around one of the small tables, the small of his back leaning against the front of the adjacent seat. "You okay?" he asked and Jason did not like his tone. No sir, not one bit.

"All things considered."

" _Jason_."

"I was strapped to a fucking chair as the fucking plane crashed! How do you _think_ I'm doing!"

Dick coughed, wincing as he uncurled from his position. "Good to hear."

Jason wished he would have said _I told you so_ instead because that was something he could've been mad at. He wished Dick would rub the fact that he had saved his life in his face just so for the satisfaction of telling him to fuck off. But he didn't. He was calm and controlled and so what if he was blinking sluggishly and moving like his bones were made of shattered glass? He was Dick and he was alive and that meant it would all be okay.

Slowly, the Robins made their way to the cabin door. The plane was totaled, obviously, but at least it wasn't on fire. Yet. As Dick tried to door, he nudged his head to the back of the plane. Jason tried to avoid looking at the deep bruise forming on the side of his face.

"Should've told you this before, sorry. But go and see if you can't find any of the food they had on board. Maybe our luggage too."

Jason nodded and started the climb, using the chairs to hoist himself up one row at a time. Dick shouldered the door again, trying to force it open.

By the time Jason reached the back of the cabin, he was sweaty and shaking, already sore muscles protesting the unexpected vertical climb. He braced himself in the doorway, inspecting the small space. There was a small kitchenette beside the latrine, cabinets locked securely. The mini-fridge had toppled to one side, smashing itself permanently closed and useless. It also blocked off the cabinet Jason suspected had the freeze-dried meals because of course it did.

"Uhh, got some wine, I guess?" he reported, glancing down to Dick.

The older Robin grunted as he shoved at the lock on the door. Jason couldn't tell for sure if it was the door itself or something with the lock that had broken, but it was definitely stuck.

"Can't get to any of the food?" Dick wondered.

"That's a negatory. It all got smashed to shit up here. Bruce really knows how to pick ‘em, eh?"

"She got us to the ground, didn't she? That's all we could've asked of her."

Jason made a face. "Or it could've just not crashed."

Dick gave him a look. "Not the _Casanova_ ’s fault. And as far as we know, Xiun and Pike are still alive up there." He fell back from the door, efforts exhausted and no closer to getting it open. "Not to mention we're at least fifteen hundred miles from the Bialyan border, meaning we are smack in the middle of hostile territory."

He froze and even from the back of the cabin, Jason could see the color drain from his face. As much as it made that lovely bruise on his temple stand out, looking like a corpse was not his best look.

"My case,” he gasped.

"The laptop!" Even with mild whiplash, Jason caught on quick. "Sat Nav!"

Dick whirled on the spot, looking around. "If we can find it, we can tell exactly where we are."

Jason was already climbing down the chairs like a jungle gym, swinging to the table. "And call for help!" Not finding it, he stood, using his height advantage (and wasn't that fun?) to look at the other seats. Maybe they had caught it during the crash.

"Found it!" he called. Instantly, Dick's attention snapped to him and he hobbled over, meeting the teen halfway. Jason plucked the case from its spot - and it had no business looking that comfortable after what they had just been through.

"Oh shit."

"What?" Dick gave him grabby paws and Jason lowered it carefully.

"Take a look for yourself."

Apparently, when Dick slapped it closed either he had forgotten to properly lock it. There was a sizeable dent on one corner which wasn't that big of a deal. What drew out a breathy curse from him, however, was the shattered monitor inside. Something had stabbed right through it, rendering the whole screen useless.

"Now what?" Jason asked.

The older Robin looked up at the teen and hated what he saw. That look of total discouragement and sorrow had no place on a face that young. Still, there wasn't a lot he could do at this point. They couldn't get to the food, the door was still stubbornly closed, and it was starting to get warm in here.

Too warm.

Dick sniffed. "Do you smell that?"

Jason looked around, sniffing wildly. “No…?”

Dick shuffled and why did his feet feel wet? Gulping, he looked down (please be Jason's discarded sodas, _please_ let it be Jason's discarded sodas) and saw a foamy amber liquid seeping into his shoes.

"Gasoline."

"Where?"

"Here."

"Shit!"

He raised his head. "Door. Now!"

Jason was at his side in an instant, both Robins shoving and banging against the door. After a second of that not working, Dick stopped him, instructing him to shove when he said so. Jason agreed and Dick set the case at his feet - this time securely locked - and wrapped his arms around the spinning lock in the center of the door. He shuffled and braced himself and started to turn. The door screamed back at him and Jason waited impatiently for his cue.

"Now!"

Jason slammed himself into it like he had never slammed into anything before. To their delight, it gave a groan and suddenly a whole inch of warm sunlight and fresh air flooded into the cabin. The teen got a glimpse of freedom, a sweet, tantalizing taste before Dick couldn't take it anymore and collapsed back. The door slammed into their faces, but the lock didn't reengage.

"What'd you see?" he panted, wiping at his forehead. Damn it was getting warm in here.

"Sand."

"Jason--"

"I mean there was sand blocking the door. If we can move it aside, we should be able to get it open."

Dick panted heavily, arms shaking with overexertion. "Okay. Okay, fine." He stepped forward again, braced strongly against the stubborn metal. "On three."

Jason nodded, wishing he could do more to help. Only a fraction of the color Dick had lost earlier had returned to his face, focusing on his cheeks as he sweated and panted in the heat. He sucked in a series of short breaths, shaking his arms and preparing to shove like his life depended on it.

"I open, you dig. Don't stop. Just move as much sand as you can. Okay. One. Two--"

"Wait!" Jason gripped his arm and wow it was too warm.

"What?"

"Just thought of something. If you get it open enough, I can crawl through and start digging from the other side."

Immediately, he was shot down. "No. Not happening."

"Why not?"

"I'm not letting you go out there alone. Who knows who saw the crash? No, it's too risky."

He groaned. "Well, we can either cook to death in here or cook to death out there. And I don't know about you, but my claustrophobia makes me a real asshole."

Dick licked his lips, turning away. "I don’t think it’s a good idea."

"Did I mention there's also gasoline at our feet?"

"Fine! Fine. Just hurry."

Jason gave him a peppy salute.

Somehow they managed to get the door open long enough for Jason to shove enough sand aside and squeeze out. It swung back once Dick stopped shoving, but the displaced sand kept it from closing all the way. Which was good, because he very much doubted he could manage another shove like that one again. He coughed suddenly, catching red droplets onto his palm.

Ah, _fuck_.

Scenarios and training flying through his mind, he inspected himself (outside, Jason made some comment about how hot it was). He didn't find anything until--

"Fuck!" he hissed involuntarily, legs collapsing beneath him. He caught the lock and managed to keep himself upright, searing pain exploding in little white lights behind his eyes. Blinking them clear, he twisted to inspect the source of the agony.

A bruise the size of his palm. Left side, upper back, just below the ribs.

Kidney.

"Shit..." he gasped again, vision suddenly blurring. Well, there went the adrenaline. Time for shock.

Except it wasn't. He was still stuck inside a plane. The plane was still crashed. They were still in hostile territory. And Jason was still outside, alone, vulnerable and exposed.

And there was still gasoline at his feet.

Dick straightened, gritting his teeth against his body's protesting. Fuck shock. He had work to do.

"How's it going out there?" he asked. His voice sounded hollow and strained even to him. He just hoped Jason didn't catch on. The last thing he needed - among all the other last things he needed, including being discovered by extremely pissed off Kuratans - was for Jason to worry about him. Worried people were stupid people and they couldn't afford stupidity. Not until they were safe at home.

_"Well, it's hot for starters!"_

Dick pulled in a breath experimentally. Wasn't that, like, the third time Jason had complained about the heat already? Slowly, the older Robin rolled his shoulders then twisted his torso, testing one muscle group at a time. If Jason kept whining like this it was going to be a long... however long it was going to be to get out of this.

Okay. Mobility not severely affected. He'd have to watch his left side which wasn't ideal but certainly not debilitating. Remind him to thank Bruce for the ambidextrous training the next time he demanded some arbitrary favor that resulted in them crashing into the desert.

Suddenly Jason was talking to him again, saying he was ready for Dick to shove one more time. Dick blinked back to reality and wiped the blood on his pants leg.

With a heave and loud grunt (because this what _not_ favoring his left side what did he _just_ say!) and Jason pulling on the outside, the door finally gave way. The younger Robin fell back onto his haunches as the stubborn metal flung open. Dick collapsed into the sand, sputtering and heaving at the strain.

Jason was panting lightly, squinting at the horizon. "Now what?"

"The... the case," Dick panted. Jason stood and climbed over him, riding the sand into the plane. Dick took a moment to breathe. Just a moment. They could afford that much. Then, it would be back to pounding the pavement and really, really trying not to let Jason die.

All too soon his break was over and he was climbing the sand. It really was like wading upstream, except the water was hot, solid, and trying very hard to keep him in place. He made it to the top just as Jason scrambled up after him, the case under one arm and something else cradled to his chest.

"Look what I found!" he snickered and showed his offering to Dick, who had all but collapsed on the hard ground. He squinted up at the odd shape that was being shoved into his face. "My drinks!" Jason informed helpfully because wow Dick could not see straight for a minute there. "The cans from earlier. Guess they survived somehow. Also--" He revealed a surprisingly still intact bottle of gin.

Dick took it from him shakily. "The hell did this come from?"

"Must have fallen, I don't know."

Dick dropped it with a sigh, inspecting their meager bounty: His case. Good. That meant they at the very least could be tracked with accuracy that would make the U.S. military cream itself; three mostly undamaged cans of soda. Hydration, a necessity in the desert; and some strong booze. Excellent for cleaning wounds and dulling pain. He might need that one soon himself, but better to save it.

"Good work," he finally applauded, pulling himself into a sitting position. "Now we just need to--"

A metallic screech came from the cockpit.

"Pike!" Jason shouted and was off, racing across the hard ground. Luckily for them, this area of the desert didn't seem to be made entirely of loose sand. There was still plenty of that, but it was for the most part covered under an outer crust of what Dick would guess was a calcified substance of some sort. It wasn't the sturdiest, though; like ice, it varied in thickness and stability, and the plane had crashed right through it. They'd have to tread carefully.

"Jason!" he yelled after the teen, rolling to his feet with a grunt. He hobbled forward, already plenty sore despite the bruise to his kidney. He rounded the remains of the wing to see Jason clawing at the shattered glass of the cockpit windows.

"They're still alive in there! Help me!"

Dick was at his side in a few quick strides, taking in the damage. The nose was completely crushed, not unlike a paper airplane that had been smashed into a wall one too many times. It was miraculous the pilots were even still alive inside.

"Here--!" He shoved Jason aside, attacking the glass with his bent elbow. It started to give under his weight, but it wasn't enough. It was doubly thick, protective glass, after all.

A low hiss caught Jason's attention and he frowned at the cabin. It got louder and louder and with a shudder he realized what it was. He vaulted forward, grabbing for Dick's arm, just as the tail of the plane exploded in a dramatic fireball.

"Holy shit--!" they gasped, the Robins tripping backward in surprise.

"The alcohol must have ignited," Dick observed. Jason's shoes squelched.

Oh shit.

"Dick, the--"

"I know!" The older Robin was already back to work, hurriedly inspecting the seams of the glass where it connected to the metal frame. He used his hands, feeling up and down. It had to be somewhere. It had to.

Jason made a noise of warning behind him. The leather seats caught fire easily, flames shattering the small windows of the _Casanova_ ’s body. They popped like firecrackers, one row at a time as the fire raced toward the cockpit.

"I know!" Dick shouted back. He could see the cockpit starting to fill with smoke. At this rate, they'd suffocate to death before the flames could even reach them. His hands slipped, the sharp glass slicing into his palm. "Damnit!" He was so close.

Jason fidgeted nervously, searching desperately for something to do. He estimated six seconds until the fire reached the gasoline gathering at the base of the cabin. "Six seconds!"

"Come on-- come on!" Another corner. There! "Found it!" Dick punched the weak point in the seam, hopping to get a better angle at it. Not enough. It was never enough.

Five seconds.

"Damnit!" he yelled over the roaring of the fire. He grabbed the case and tossed it back to Jason. The smoke, thick and black, was starting to choke the air. "Take this!"

Jason did so, watching in awe as Dick ground his hands into the weakened glass, gripping the windowsill underneath, and he pulled himself up. He braced one boot against the slick metal frame. The other he swung into the glass, kicking at it ferociously.

Four seconds.

The window gave way under the assault. He yelled for Jason, who rushed over. The teen grabbed the sheet and tore it away, flinging it somewhere into the sand. Dick squatted, coughing against the smoke that came pouring out of the cockpit.

"Xiun? Pike?"

Movement from inside.

"There!" Jason pointed.

Three seconds.

Dick looked, then was suddenly vaulting backward. "Shit!" he cursed, the shape of a pistol emerging from the cockpit. Xiun appeared in a halo of black smoke, her face caked in blood.

Dick kicked off the plane, scrambling backward. Jason met him halfway and yanked him to his feet. "Xiun! It's over!" he yelled. "The plane's on fire! You have to let us help you!"

Two seconds.

She cocked the hammer. "Better die than live indebted to _you_!" She squeezed and the Robins ducked.

There was a metallic clang and they frowned, slowly turning back. Xiun was slumped over, her gun dropped into the sand. A chunk of the dashboard was cracked over her head.

"The hell--?”

" _Pike!_ " Jason shrieked. The old man, his own face caved in in several places with white bone jutting out, grinned. He gave a military salute.

One second.

"Jason, no!" Dick yanked the kid back and wrapped around him, the case in one hand, shielding their heads with the other.

An agonizing moment of silence passed. Then the plane was ripped apart, shredded like paper by white-hot flames. It blew up spectacularly, chunks of metal and debris pelting into the surrounding sand. The shockwave knocked the Robins off their feet, sending them tumbling.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dick and Jason scavenge for parts, are totally not lost, lose one can of soda, and get shot at. Elsewhere, Bruce worries.

**NORTHERN KURAT  
UNKNOWN DISTANCE FROM THE BORDER**

Debris and flaming bits of metal crashed to the ground. Black scorch marks surrounded the _Casanova_ like a halo of death, the nearby sand melted in the heat of the blast. Smoke climbed high into the air, hungrily devouring the heat waves and sunbeams, morphing the sky into a swarming mass of black and sparks.

Dick coughed, rolling to his side as his lungs argued about whether he should be pushing air out or sucking it back in. Soot covered his arms and face; the button-down he was wearing practically shredded around the shoulders. His hand hit cold steel and he looked at it, vision lazily clearing to reveal the metal case. It certainly looked worse for wear, but he knew Bruce ordered them to last. So as long as it could still transmit a signal, it was worth keeping around.

A haggard moan came from above him and he tilted backward, squinting against the smoke and steam. A lump of human previously known as Jason Todd was having a hard time of it, leather jacket protecting his skin from the blast and rough ground.

Dick grunted, taking several attempts to clear his throat enough to make any recognizable sound. "Jason?"

"Alive..." the teen groaned back. He propped up on one elbow, staring at Dick near his feet. "You?"

The older Robin regarded his response carefully, inevitably deciding against an honest answer. "Not dead."

Jason flopped back with relief. "Good because..." Another wheeze. "...think I might’ve broke something."

Goddamnit.

Dick's body willfully ignored his every command to make it stand. It even refused to crawl, which simply wouldn't do. He was a Robin; he had been through worse. Eventually, he got to his feet, stomping heavily to wear Jason was still moaning. The teen pulled himself to a sitting position, cradling his right arm.

Heavily, Dick squatted next to him. He took Jason's arm, inspecting it carefully.

"Ow!" the teen hissed when the other tried to straighten it out.

He sighed. "You want the good news or bad news?"

A color of hysteria slipped into Jason's eyes. "I get a choice?"

"Always." (God, he missed Kori.)

"Uhhh, good news, I guess?"

"It's only dislocated."

Dick twisted. There was a loud pop and Jason screamed. He curled in on himself defensively, snatching his arm back from Dick to cradle it. " _That_ was the good news?" he cried, voice cracking.

Dick wiped off his hands, glancing back to the wreckage. "Yup."

"S-so what was the bad news, then?”

He actually had the audacity to smirk as he gestured to the shoulder. " _That_."

Admittedly, the glare Jason sent him would have been much more intimidating if he didn't have tire tracks of tear streaks running down his face. "You're an asshole."

Dick couldn’t argue that one. "You're welcome," he said instead, patting the boy’s back gently. He stood with a pop somewhere in his something - probably right knee, dang thing was always giving him fits - and started the slow walk back to the charred remains of the plane.

Jason watched him, only mildly concerned. "What're you looking for?"

Dick shrugged at him. "Not sure yet."

Rolling his eyes, Jason climbed to his feet. He rolled his shoulder a few times, working out the kinks before they became real problems. "Don't think it's a big mystery of whodunnit this time." He pointed to where the cockpit used to be. "I'll take Ms. Scarlet in the Observatory with the giant, fucking jet."

"That's not what I'm looking for."

So much for humor. "So what, then? Your shaving cream? Toilet paper? A bottle of fine Bordeaux?"

"If you've got one." Noticing something, Dick kicked at it for a minute, finally squatting to investigate further.

"And--and just one more thing!" Jason tripped on a smoking seat cushion. "If I may be so bold."

"You may."

"How the ever-loving-hell do you know it's not going to blow up again?"

That got the older Robin looking at him. "I don't,” he shrugged.

Jason's groan echoed throughout the lands. Some say you can still hear it to this day. "Oh, that's right! Your death wish. Silly me, I totally forgot about your death wish!"

Unsatisfied with whatever he thought he had found, Dick stood, pocketing his hands. "I do not have a death wish."

"Whatever you say, edge lord." Jason swung himself in a half-circle, turning his eyes to scan the horizon. To the left, sand. To the right, more sand. Straight ahead, what was that? That little speck in the far-off distance? Oh, wait. It was more sand.

"Hah!"

Suddenly Dick was picking his way through the debris like a kid scrambling for the big Christmas present hidden behind the tree. Jason watched disinterestedly. Then Dick stooped and started digging, eventually revealing his leather jacket only slightly more charred than Jason’s own.

That got the teen’s interest because the _fuck?_

Dick chuckled proudly, slipping the jacket on. He tested its durability and fit against him, finding himself pleasantly surprised. "Only a little banged up," he grinned at Jason as if he'd just unearthed a treasure map. "Should work just fine."

"For what?"

Dick stomped toward him again, pausing every few feet to pluck something up off the ground. He approached Jason and kept right on walking, shoving a few random objects into his chest. "For whatever happens next."

Jason's eyebrows creased in a frown, unfolding the items to reveal-- "You've got to be shitting me." His cans, all three of them.

"Nope. Look on the bright side, Jason. Luck may be with us, after all."

For some reason he very much doubted it, but he pocketed the cans all the same. They were bent, slightly burnt, but all miraculously still intact. He huffed, taking a moment to give the _Soaring Casanova_ one last once over.

"Don't fall too far behind!"

Smirking, Jason flipped the damn thing the bird.

Dick leaned over to snatch up a singed piece of fabric from somewhere. It would go well with the bottle of gin he had uncovered earlier. Three cans of probably poisonous soda, a bottle of gin, a stainless-steel case complete with useless monitor, and a quilted together knapsack to carry it all in.

Yeah. This wasn't going to end well.

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

**NORTHERN KURAT  
APPROXIMATELY 1500 MILES FROM THE BORDER**

They trudged across the uneven ground for hours, boots catching on some sharp corner of the weird calcified crust every few steps. Jason had to keep reminding himself that it could've been worse.

It was goddamn hot, though, the white surface of the ground rejecting every bit of sunlight and redirecting it exactly into their eyes. It made looking down - much less where they were going - near impossible. Of course looking up or even straight ahead wasn't much better, the wind doing absolutely everything in its power to dry out their eyes and fill them with particulates. Dick had stripped his button-down a while ago, providing them with facial coverings. It kept the sand from their noses and mouths but did shit all to keep their eyes safe.

Jason was thirsty. It was a sensation he was pretty sure he would have to get used to, because who knew how long they were going to be out here? That did nothing to soothe the ache in this throat, though, or replace the liquid he had already lost in the stupid tears earlier.

Why was he so weak? He couldn't do anything to help save Xiun and Pike (R.I.P. Whatever-His-First-Name-Was Pike), he had been utterly useless against the blast and fire. He had to be strapped down during the crash like a baby for Christ's sake, unable to even buckle his own belt.

He wondered if Dick's staggered trudge was because of him too, his uselessness slowing them down.

"Whoa!" Dick commanded suddenly and Jason froze. He pulled a face and looked up, scared to so much as move his head. Dick motioned to his feet. "Watch your step."

The teen looked down. He had one foot on the white rock and the other on the sand. "So what?"

"The sand in this area is really unpredictable. It's like an underground river in some spots, shifting and moving all the time. Just, try to stay on the hard stuff."

Jason planted both feet firmly on the _hard_ _stuff_ , giving Dick a shrug to see if he was satisfied. He was, and they kept moving.

"How do you know so much about sand?"

"I went to Bialya once. Back when I was a... well, back when I was still Robin. I wouldn't call it a mission, though. More like a glorified tagalong."

"Like me."

He chuckled. "Yeah, like you. Some members of the League wanted to meet with Queen Bee to go over her involvement in a series of extremist bombings."

Jason made a noise. "Work trip. Yuck."

"Yeah, that's what I thought too." He kicked a small slab of rock aside with his boot. "Wasn't very long. Few days tops. The League members kept her busy while Bruce did some reconnaissance."

"You didn't trust her."

" _Bruce_ didn't trust her. I barely knew her, was barely off the training wheels at that point."

Silence for a moment as a gust of dry wind marched by, forcing them to stop and cover their faces.

"So, what happened?" Jason asked as they resumed walking.

"With what?"

"With Queen Bee. Was she guilty?"

"Oh definitely. But we couldn't prove anything beyond circumstantial evidence, so Bruce finally pulled the plug and we left."

"And thirty-whatever years later, he's back again, spouting nonsense about peace and respecting sacred land or whatever."

"Thirty, what...?" Dick paused, turning to him. "Exactly how old do you think I am?"

"I dunno. Forty maybe?"

" _Forty_!" Dick gasped in disbelief.

The teen very much did not appreciate his mocking tone of voice. "What!?"

"How old do you think Bruce is, then?"

He shrugged, mulling it over. "Like, seventy-three?"

Dick laughed at him - good and properly laughed at him. It made Jason want to shove him into one of those sand sinkholes he had definitely made up.

"Hey, back off, man, I don't know!"

"I'm sorry, I just..." He paused long enough to breathe. "I _have_ to tell him you think he's seventy-three years old."

"Oh, no! Don't you dare!" Jason rounded on him. "I'm serious, Dick! You mention a word of this to him and I'll tell him you use his Netflix log in in the Tower!"

Dick patted him on the shoulder, chuckling softly as he resumed walking. "Please. I have done way worse things to Bruce than stealing his Netflix."

That got Jason interested. "Wait, what? You have? Dude!" He jogged to catch up. "We gotta swap horror stories, man! Because, trust me, I have totally done some seriously messed up stuff too. Like, super hardcore messed up, believe me."

Oh, Dick totally did. One thing he learned from his short stint as a suit: The more someone insisted they could be believed, the more reliable they were.

"What, you don't believe me?"

"Now's just really not the time."

"Aww, scared I'll beat you?"

"And it's _certainly_ not a competition."

Jason slowed his pace, grinning cockily at Dick from behind. "Yeah. You're totally scared."

"I'm trembling."

"Asshole."

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

It was the afternoon. It had to be. Dick spared a glance at the sun. Fourteen, maybe fifteen hundred? Sighing, he scrubbed his face with his hands. They left Friday morning. They flew for twelve hours. Take time change into account and...

Yeah. Afternoon.

...ish.

At least the direction he was sure of. The closest Bialyan border was to the north, about fifteen hundred miles or so from where they had crashed. Cissnas have a cruising speed of four ninety mph. They were still about four hours from their destination. If they had continued at their present rate of speed for the remaining four hours, they would have covered…

One thousand, six hundred and fifty-something miles.

Take into account their descent speed, though, (all in all, it probably took about six minutes before they hit the ground?) and factor in the ground covered in the skid before finally coming to a stop. And it was...

Not enough. There were still plenty of daunting miles between them and even relative safety.

Which was another thing; their hoping to get assistance from the Bialyans was determined only by the people’s willingness to help which, honestly, was a crapshoot. He'd give it a 50-50 chance. Maybe 70-30 if they looked haggard enough. 20-80 if Queen Bee knew they were Robins. The tyrant might have been a lot of things, but forgetful, she was not.

Dick sighed again, his mind unhappily coming back to reality. Great, did he want to start estimating how long they needed to walk in order to reach the border? Maybe calculate the time frame they had before they burned through the meager calories the soda gave them?

Oh, oh, and if he got really bored, he could always count the grains of sand because god knew there were plenty of those.

"Hey, I'm trying."

And he was. But there were only so many things he could occupy his mind with that didn't end with him spiraling into madness because he was a failure.

His side hurt. Well, it was more of his back. Well, his side most certainly did hurt, having landed on something that disagreed very much with being landed on during the explosion. But his largest concern was his back and the bruised kidney he was lugging around. Symptoms included dizziness, vomiting, blood in the urine, internal bleeding, and death.

Well, he was going to die eventually.

They were _all_ going to die eventually. He and Jason sooner than most if he didn't figure out something else other than walking.

His steps slowed, winding down to an eventual stop. Wow, not walking felt great. And what felt even greater? Not standing.

"Let's rest here for a minute. Catch our breath." He turned to check if Jason had heard him. The teen grumbled to a stop, head hanging back and muttering something like _finally_.

"Any idea where we are?" the teen asked, collapsing heavily onto the ground. Dick lowered himself beside him, summoning the case.

"Time to find out." It slid open with a hiss.

"I'm gonna pretend that _doesn’t_ mean you've just been guessing this whole time."

"I haven't been guessing this whole time." He felt the shattered remains on the small monitor. Too bad. "We're South of the Bialyan border. Until now, that's all I needed to know."

Jason cracked open a soda and Dick legitimately felt himself start to drool. The teen offered him a drink and he waved it off. "You have it. Need to stay hydrated."

One of the ways to alleviate the symptoms of a bruised kidney: Drink plenty of fluids. He ignored the little voice, instead gently removing the busted computer parts. He glanced the monitor over, ultimately disregarding it. Useless. Probably couldn't fix it even if he had the right tools.

"How's it looking?" Jason wondered, his voice improved tenfold with a little drink.

Sometimes Dick found it really hard to stay strong. (He was so thirsty.)

"Monitor is busted." He pocketed it.

"What about the Sat Nav? The GPS?"

Dick shifted into work mode. "Not much help without a monitor. But it looks like the rest of the computer is fine. If I can type in the correct keys and shortcuts, I should be able to open up an SOS beacon that'll transmit our location to any nearby receiving signal on a League device."

"So, hopefully Bruce."

"Yes, Bruce. Hopefully."

Jason took another careful sip. At least he was showing restraint and not downing the whole thing in one go. Dick would be proud of him if he wasn't so jealous.

"And... what if you can't remember what to press?"

"Then the Watchtower gets a lot of really weird pizza orders."

"You can order pizza with that thing?"

"No. This is a League issued, Lucius programmed device. It's for, you know, hero stuff."

"Well I don't know about you, but a pizza guy showing up just over the horizon would look pretty heroic to me right about now." Crunching the can in his fist, the tossed it aside.

Dick frowned at him. "Dude."

"What?"

He nodded pointedly. "Littering."

"Are you serious?"

"It'll leave a trail."

"We are in the middle of the goddamn desert, Dick! Who's following us? The vultures? And what're they going to do? Hold us at gunpoint and demand to know if we have any Fanta?" he argued, standing and waving his arms to make a point.

"They won't have time to interrogate us because we'll be dead. Because they’ll shoot us."

The teen wilted with an obnoxious groan. "Christ on a cracker you are paranoid." He picked up the can anyway.

"How else do you think I've managed to live to the ripe old age of forty-something?"

"Hey screw you, asshole."

"So, we're calling names now."

"Stupid, ugly asshole."

"Names _and_ insults." He squinted up at Jason. "I knew this bonding weekend was going to do us some good. I swear, you never talk to me anymore."

Jason flopped flat onto his back, splayed out like a starfish. "Shnookums, I'm _trying_. You just don't listen."

"Well, maybe I would listen if you had anything substantial to say."

He rolled onto his side, eying Dick with humor. "Well, maybe I would have something substantial to say if you actually spent some time with me." He took the older Robin's hand. "When was the last time we did something, just the two of us?"

Dick looked around pointedly. "What do you call this?"

He missed the plume of smoke taking form over the horizon.

Jason wailed in heartbreak, falling hard onto his back. "Ugh! You always do this! As soon as I try to get close you bring up work! That's all that matters to you anymore - work, work, work!"

Smirking, Dick shot him a glance, fingers typing rapidly on the keyboard. "Well someone has to hold this household together! What are you going to do, go out and get a real job? Maybe then you could cover those hospital bills from your mother."

"She had the flu! What did you expect me to do, just leave her alone in that big empty house!"

The smoke grew wider and louder, approaching them rapidly.

"I certainly didn't expect you to invite her to live with us."

Jason shot to his feet, shaking a hard finger at Dick. "You have never liked my mother!"

Dick mirrored his movements, towering over the teen. "Your mother never liked me!"

Jason snarled at him, a reply hot on his lips. It died, though, as his eyes caught something in the distance. "The hell is that?"

Confused, Dick turned. The shape of the smoke looked mighty familiar, and he could almost make out a figure in front of it.

No. Not one figure. Many figures. Specifically, many military Humvees.

And they were coming straight for them.

"Run!" he shouted, shoving Jason ahead of him. The boy stumbled in surprise, but quickly gained his footing. In a few powerful strides, he was taking the lead. Suddenly, though, he skidded to a stop, arms flailing.

Dick nearly ran him over, stunned as the kid about-faced and sprinted back where they had come from.

"The case!"

Shit, the case.

"Hurry up!" Dick ordered, waving at him. The cars zoomed along the terrain, tearing through it like brittle paper. "Come on!" he urged. They were gaining on them, and fast.

Jason was within range in no time. He hucked the case to Dick, who caught it. He waited another half-moment until Jason was zipping past him to resume his own dead sprint.

"How'd they find us?" the teen wondered.

"Well we did crash a fucking plane into the middle of their desert!"

Bullets bounced off the ground around them as the Humvees opened fire.

"Oh yeah!" Jason, the absolute mad lad, chuckled. "Those were good times."

Dick would certainly need more convincing. "Whatever you say."

"In fact! You could almost say they were to die for!" The teen stumbled on a particularly sharp outcrop, Dick steadying him from behind. "Thanks!"

"The gallows humor can wait!" They ducked as more bullets sprayed the air around them.

"Until when?"

"How about when we aren't getting shot at, for starters! Here!" Dick tossed the case to Jason and skidded to a stop, his boots being absolutely abused by the rough terrain. He heard Jason fumble with the case, stumbling to a surprised halt a few feet away.

"What?"

Dick eyed the area. He stomped his foot twice. The ground cracked. Not a lot, but he could see small fissures forming. It would have to do.

"Wait, what're you doing?" Jason panted as Dick dropped to one knee. He surveyed the area, hands picking at the stones and hunks of calcified dirt.

"Buying us some time," he answered shortly. A particularly large rock caught the corner of his vision and he scrambled for it, snatching it from the ground.

"No offense, but I don't think your throwing arm is quite that good, David. And I also don’t think Goliath had guns."

"It's not for me. Stand back." The teen obeyed, eyeing the approaching swarm nervously. They started firing again and he brought the case up to cover his face.

Whatever Dick was doing, he had better do it quickly.

"I hope this works."

"What? Hope what works?"

Dick gripped the stone in both hands, raising it high above his head. With a yell, he slammed it down, pointed edge stabbing into the rocky terrain.

Nothing happened.

He repeated the process several times, slowly chipping a pointed hole into the crust.

Jason fidgeted nervously. "Look, we're all really impressed here. Now can you tell me what the plan really is?"

Dick was on his feet and bolting past him in an instant, snatching the case back as he went. "That was the plan! Come on!"

"What?!" Jason sprinted after him, catching up easily. He glanced back, checking the oncoming army.

"Don't look back!" Dick demanding, grabbing the teen's arm and yanking forward. "Just keep running!"

"Why not? The hell did you do?"

Suddenly the ground shook, throwing the Robins off their feet. It sounded like the earth was splitting in two and they looked back. Exactly as Dick had planned, it was. The fissure he had made in the shell was enough to weaken its structure. As soon as the squad of Humvees got near enough, it collapsed under their weight. Soldiers screamed as the ground opened up, the sand swallowing them and their vehicles like a trap door.

"Holy shit!" Jason exclaimed with a laugh. He sat up straighter, regarding the scene in awe. "Ah ha! Yeah! Suck it, scumbags!"

It wasn't enough to swallow the men completely, but it did definitely slow them down. They would be digging themselves out of that for a while.

" _That_ was your plan?"

Dick lay next to him, panting heavily. He shrugged noncommittally. "More or less." With a grunt he climbed to his feet, Jason quickly joining him. "Told you the sand here was tricky."

"Next time I go hiking, I want you there to tell me all the ways I can use the jungle to kill a man."

Dick heaved out a laugh. He picked up the case, stumbling away. "Come on. We got to keep moving. They know where we are." He staggered forward, arm held at an awkward angle against his stomach. He swayed and looked pale but managed a brisk pace. Once Jason caught up, though, they sped into a light jog, leaving the caravan of screaming and angry soldiers in their dust.

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

**SOUTHERN BIALYA  
700 MILES FROM THE BORDER**

Elsewhere, in a small palace just north of the Bialyan border, Bruce Wayne overlooked the surrounding desert, a look of disinterest on his stoic face. He was dressed in a fine suit, top button elegantly unfastened, and hands clasped casually behind his back. He was the pinnacle of Western refinement, back straight and shoulders relaxed as he gazed out the glass wall, seemingly without a care in the world.

On the inside, however, he was counting the seconds until he could exhale again, the slow, methodical rhythm doing shit all to calm his thoroughly rattled nerves. He knew something was wrong. It was still hours until he was expected to meet with Dick and though nothing had been passed through the official pipeline about a delay or accident, his gut told him to panic. His first Robin had sounded none too happy the last they had talked, but he had faith Dick would make the right decision. Despite all his downfalls, he was a man of morals - a trait Bruce admired more than anything. He was also very much a people pleaser, ready to help with near any task at a moment's notice.

Which is why Bruce had faith he would come.

It was also why Bruce had refused their generous offer of room service; his stomach couldn’t handle their spicy cuisine.

Behind him, a liaison (or court member or personal assistant to the Queen, he hadn't been paying attention) stepped forward. Her hair was pulled back into a sophisticated bun, a sleeveless black blouse complimenting the darkness of her skin, as well as her impressive biceps. She tapped her wireless earpiece, hanging up the call she had been on, and addressed him: "I am sent to apologize on behalf of the Queen; there has been an issue a few clicks south of the border that requires her attention." And how splendidly interesting that was. "She assures you that the ceremony will take place as scheduled. In the meantime, can I offer you some refreshments?"

Bruce pulled his view from the horizon to grin at her politely. "That would be lovely, thank you."

She clipped over to a tray of metal goblets and a pitcher.

"Here, let me help you with that," Bruce offered and rushed to her side. Fumbling, though, his hand accidentally slapped into the tray. The whole thing clattered to the floor with reverberating clangs, water splashing all over their shoes. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry," he blushed, scrambling to catch a goblet before it rolled away.

"It is fine," she was saying, sufficiently rattled by the unexpected turn of events. Quickly, Bruce slipped the tray into her hands and loaded it up with dripping goblets, all the while apologizing profusely.

"I am quite sorry. How clumsy of me." He helped her stand as she struggled to juggle the slippery load. "It seems you've, uh...” He slipped a hand up, soothing a loose stray of hair behind her ear. "There you go. I really am very sorry."

She grinned sharply. "If you will excuse me."

"Of course." He bowed, allowing her to take her leave. She nodded curtly and pivoted, stomping off in those heels.

Once she was out of range, all class and candor slid off his face, leaving behind a tight-lipped glare. He tapped the comm in his ear, stalking back to the window. "Did it work?"

 _"Quite well, sir,”_ Alfred replied from the depths of the Cave. _"The bug you implanted on her wireless device is operating perfectly. We can now see and hear whatever she does."_

Bruce pulled out his phone, flipping to a hidden app. It opened to a live feed and he watched the camera bob and sway as she stormed through the halls, shoving the tray of goblets at the nearest servant she could find. She muttered something quite unkind to them.

For the first time since arriving here, a relieved grin pulled at the corner of Bruce's mouth. He sucked in a calming breath, pocketing the device and staring out the window again.

"Time to find out exactly what's going on."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the rest of the Titans learned what has happened, Bruce refuses to stand idly by, Jason loses it, Dick tries very hard not to as well, Jason then gets it back but almost loses their last can in the process, and they explode for a second time. But this time on purpose.

**TITANS TOWER  
SAN FRANCISCO**

It was night all along the West Coast, the sun having retired hours ago. The Titans should have gone to bed already as well. But Rachel and Kori were huddled together on the couch, junk food wrappers littering the area around them. Gar, well, who knew were Gar was? Wherever the best Wi-Fi signal was, probably. The Titans ladies were halfway into their third movie and as excited as Kori was to spend some quality female time with Rachel, she could only take so many monster movies before her mind was slipping to the Middle East. She played with her ring nervously, forehead creased in a thoughtful frown.

The monster tripped over some power lines and Rachel scoffed at it, glancing back at Kori to share her amusement.

The woman nodded, shooting her a grin that dissolved as soon as her back was turned. She had been away from Dick before. Hell, she had left him for three months a while back under tenuous circumstances at best. Now, though, after being with him and seeing the spark he had... well, she had to admit. She had caught the bug. And she had caught it hard. It was in the way he smiled, those few and far between grins that lit up the world brighter than any measly sun ever could. How he acted around people, the warmth that he brought into even the iciest of rooms. His laugh and anger and warped sort of justice and confidence that was just so him.

And he had a really nice ass to boot.

Thinking back on it, she recounted the few months she had known him. It hadn’t long, hardly long enough to even count as a long-term relationship. And yet she found herself wondering how she had ever managed to live without Dick Grayson in her life.

Rachel pulled away and Kori casually focused back to reality, finding the girl watching her. "What's wrong, Rache?" she wondered, petting the girl's blue curls.

"You aren't even watching, are you?"

She couldn't lie. Not to Rachel. "I'm sorry, kiddo. Guess I'm just tired."

"You're worried about them, aren't you? About Dick and Jason."

She grinned sadly. "I guess I am."

Rachel paused the movie and shifted to face her better. "Are they in danger?"

Kori pulled in a sigh. So this was a conversation they were going to be having right now, was it? "Not from what Dick told me,” she answered carefully.

"Then why're you worried?"

She hummed. "Let's just call it intuition, shall we?"

Just then, Gar busted into the room, bringing a whirlwind of anxiety with him. The women sat up, looking at him in concern.

"Gar, what's wrong?" Kori asked but the boy was rushing forward.

"The news," he instructed. They blinked at him. "The news! Turn the news on!"

Rachel snagged the remote and changed channels.

 _“--haven't received word yet from who the plane was registered to or who was on it, but speculations are that it was a private jet that suffered a serious malfunction mid-flight,"_ the anchor was in the middle of saying.

Kori couldn't move. She couldn't think. The only thing she saw was shaky footage of a smoldering plane wreck in the middle of the Kurat desert. The camera zoomed in, inching over every gruesome detail of the scene.

Rachel frowned at her. "That can't be--"

" _Shhh_."

_"Unfortunately, this is the only footage of the wreck our sister station's Chopper 12 could capture before being forced from the scene by Kuratan authorities. Still no updates as of yet whether this was a civilian craft or not, or what impact this supposed accidental crash will have on the already dubious relations between Kurat and their long-time enemy to the North, Bialya. Again, we are just now receiving reports of an until now unreported plane crash in the Kuratan desert. It's not known the political or international affiliations of the owners of the craft, but it does appear as though there were no surviv--"_

"I need to make a call." Kori was on her feet in a flash, stomping to the door.

Rachel and Gar watched her.

"Are you calling Batman?" he wondered.

"No. Someone a whole lot scarier."

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

**SOUTHERN BIALYA  
700 MILES FROM THE BORDER**

Bruce was not a man who enjoyed being put on hold. He didn't care if it was his cable provider, the bank, the Mayor's office, or the courtroom of a Queen. Telling him to wait would be one of the last mistakes any unfortunate soul would ever make.

He fisted a hand, arms crossed tightly over his chest. Another button had become unfastened. Behind him, the same liaison from before was whispering harsh words into her wireless earpiece, blissfully unaware that Bruce was familiar with four separate dialects of her language. He cracked his knuckles impatiently, watching the ZNN report on the big screen in the corner.

"How long until we have satellites in position?" he hissed quietly.

 _"About two and a half hours, sir,"_ replied Alfred in his infinite patience.

"That's too long. They could be dead or captured by then."

_"Miss Gordon is volunteering to tap into Turkish intelligence and borrow one of their satellites for the time being--"_

"Do it."

_"Right away, sir."_

The liaison behind him ended the call.

He turned to her expectantly. "Anything?"

"Bialya will not, at this time, be taking any sort of responsibility for the unfortunate--"

He broke pose and stomped to her much like a charging rhino protecting her young. " _At this time_ I am not interested in who's damn fault it is," he seethed. "I just want to know what your Queen is going to do to bring my son out of there in one piece."

The woman stared at him. Her arms twitched as if she was deciding whether or not picking a fight with a defenseless old man would be worth cutting a check for his hospital bills.

Bruce almost dared her to try it. A good ass-kicking might help him blow off some steam.

"I will ask for an update from the Queen, but she is very busy--"

He growled at her, dismissing her with a wave. She was useless. He needed to take matters into his own hands. "We're 700 miles from the border, correct?"

"Mr. Wayne you cannot cross the border at this time. It is closed until further notice, pending the decision of the Queen."

Gears slid into place in his head and he paused. "You want to start a war." It didn't sound like a question and it wasn't meant to. "You plan on using this to claim that Kurat drew first blood, so you are justified to start fighting during a holy month."

She squared her shoulders. "Mr. Wayne, you cannot cross the border into Kurat at this time. It would--"

"Watch me," he hissed as he stormed past, leaving her in a flurry of animal and parental rage.

He took the hallway by storm, eating up the distance between him and the palace's military base by the powerful stride. Step one, acquire a vehicle. Step two, rescue his son. Step three, fuck _both_ of these countries for putting his boy through this.

His phone rang. He snapped it to his ear. "Barbara, tell me you--"

_"Bruce."_

He froze.

Shit.

"Kori."

_"Is it true?"_

He could hear the news report in the background. "They don't have the full story."

_"And you do?"_

"I have enough."

A pause. Then, _"What are you going to do?"_

"Whatever it takes."

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

**NORTHERN KURAT  
1450 MILES FROM THE BORDER**

The sun was beginning to set and Jason was shocked they had been walking almost the whole day.

That was a lie. The setting sun was a welcome relief because it showed, beyond a reasonable doubt, that time was, in fact, moving and they'd hadn't fallen into some inescapable hell loop when their plane went down. Because it certainly felt like they had. Felt like they had been trudging through sand and across the brittle outer crust for longer than he'd even been alive.

Had he lived before this? Did he have a name, a home, a family who loved him? All he knew was heat and hunger and _sand_. Sand in his shoes, scratching up his skin, catching in his eyelashes and even - he sneezed - crawling up his nose despite Dick’s impromptu masks.

"I hate sand!" he grumbled. He kicked at a loose pile of the stuff and, for the record, it looked a lot cooler than it ended up being.

"I know, bud. Just keep moving," Dick panted ahead of him. His posture was as stiff as a rod and he looked utterly miserable, taking in the world through half-lidded eyes and chapped lips.

Jason dug out one of their remaining two cans. "Hey."

The older Robin glanced back at him and _Jesus_ he looked like death. Jason offered the soda. "You need to drink."

"So do you."

"Already had one."

Dick pushed the hand away gently and why was his skin on fire? "Then save it," he croaked. He turned back and before he could even take another step, he was collapsing to the ground.

"Idiot!" Jason kneeled to his side, watching in barely contained confusion as the older Robin ripped down his mask and coughed. What started as dry hacks quickly became wet squelches. Blood the consistency of coffee grounds sprayed from his mouth, staining the white stone.

"Shit!" Jason added unhelpfully.

"'m fine..." Dick wheezed.

"Like hell you are!" Jason touched his side in a comforting gesture and Dick made a sound the younger Robin was certain no human being should be capable of. He withdrew immediately, scrambling backward. The hell had he just done? All he'd done was touch him, and just barely so at that.

Dick was on his right side, convulsing in pain. He rested his forehead against the chalky crust and it felt _cool_.

"What..." Jason swallowed back some emotion, helpless as his mentor shook and wheezed with pain. "What's wrong?"

"Kid..." Another cough and more goopy blood. "Kidney... bruised... hit it in... the wreck..."

"Kidney--oh, _fuck_ , Dick! That's serious! You could die from that or bleed out or-- are you bleeding internally right now?"

He nodded. "Most definitely."

Jason saw red and for the first time, it wasn't from the sand. "And you didn't tell me?!"

Slowly, Dick began to uncurl, breathing starting to even out. "You n'd to... c'lm down."

"Calm down?! _Calm down_? Are you serious, right now?"

"Jason!" A hand was gripping his wrist and he froze. Dick was looking at him with fire in his eyes and Jason was suddenly hyper-aware of just how young and inexperienced he was. "You need to save your strength."

"No! No, if you think I’m going to leave you, you can forget--!"

Dick shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut as he waited for the nausea to pass. "No! That's not… what I’m saying. You're going to have to the lead soon."

Machismo be damned, tears were undoubtedly forming in his eyes as Dick struggled to breathe let alone give him a pep talk. If the older Robin couldn’t lead, he was infinitely worse off than he was putting on. "Dick, no..."

"I'm not going anywhere but, Jason, I need to know I can rely on you to keep a calm head. Just in case."

"I don’t think--"

"You'll have to or we're both going to die." Seeing that the younger Robin was unconvinced, Dick made a face and pulled. It left his head spinning and he might have blacked out for a minute, but soon enough he was upright. Halfway to walking. He looked up at Jason, an unsaid plea coloring his large eyes. "Jason, you have to."

Robin nodded. "Fine. Fine, whatever. I will."

"Good." Dick waved an arm at the teen, who grabbed it. Slowly as they could, they eased Dick to his feet. Jason pressed a hand to his chest - he would be avoiding Dick's back for the rest of forever, thank you very much. He scanned the tall man, watching every crease and line of his form as he gathered his balance.

Silently, Dick nodded and Jason slipped underneath, draping the arm across his shoulders.

"Okay. Uh..."

"North."

"North, right."

A long pause.

Dick couldn't torture the poor teen anymore. "That way."

"Totally knew that."

"Jason?"

Instantly he had the younger Robin's undivided attention. Rooky mistake, to be so narrow-sighted, but that lecture would have to wait.

"You got this."

The teen swallowed but something else joined the unshed moisture in his eyes (blame stress and shock) and he nodded. "Just stay alive, okay?"

Dick chuckled shallowly. "Will do."

Jason lead them through the sand and rock. The further north they went, the scarcer the calcified outer crust of the desert became, leaving nothing but loose sand. The terrain flattened, though, and spiny bushes started peppering the area. It reminded Jason of the unglamorous California wilderness, full of small dunes and dead shrubbery. The sand slowed their already meager pace to a crawl as Dick barely had the energy to lift his feet. Holding him up put a tremendous strain on Jason's recently relocated shoulder, but it wasn't anything he couldn't deal with.

The sun was just beginning to disappear over the horizon (the dramatically chilled air did much to alleviate Dick's raging fever) when Jason's body suddenly gave out on them. They collapsed in an uncoordinated heap, backs resting on a small sandy incline.

"I'm... I'm sorry, Dick," the younger Robin was panting. He scrambled up as though worried he would be found napping on the job, grabbing at Dick's heavy limbs.

"Jason..."

"I'll get us back up, don't worry about it. I got us, I promise..."

Dick flopped at hand against his arm. "Jason, it's okay. A breather might do both of us some good."

Jason was shaking his head, sweaty and trembling. "No! No, I can do it. I can get us there. Believe me, I can do it!"

"Hey." No response so he repeated slightly more forcefully. "Hey, bud." Finally, he was rewarded with a look into Jason's eyes and immediately wanted to cry himself. "Hey, listen, I'm sorry for putting so much pressure on you."

"No, no, Dick, you don't--"

"I know you can do it. I do. I've never doubted your abilities. Not with fighting, not with this. Okay? You are a really remarkable and strong kid. We both know it. There's no shame in resting."

"But, Dick, the border is still--" He waved in a direction then realized he had completely lost his way.

Luckily, Dick's calm voice saved him from another spiral. "And it's not going anywhere, trust me. That border has stayed exactly where it is since they first put it down hundreds of years ago. Despite all of their efforts otherwise." He shifted in the sand, rolling his torso with a wince to take the pressure off his bruised side. "Look, just, take a minute, okay? _I_ need a minute." Because Jason would allow that as long as it wasn’t him asking.

The teen gulped loudly, nodding as he studied his hands. They were shaking.

"Come here."

Before he could reconsider, Jason was crawling into Dick's arms, hiding his face in his chest. "It's okay," Dick soothed, rubbing the teen's back. He could feel it quivering but Jason, stubborn as all hell, refused to make a noise. He knew a breakdown like this wasn’t something Jason would have ever allowed under normal circumstances. It also left without saying these weren’t exactly normal circumstances. And Dick understood completely.

Being involved in a plane crash would mess up even the strongest person. It was traumatizing, especially when he considered it was the teen’s first time in a jet like that.

Jason sobbed dryly into his chest. He had zipped up his jacket to the neckline after donating his shirt earlier, and he was sure the scratchy leather wasn’t super comfortable for the teen’s face. As much as his tearless heaves hurt Dick’s heart, it was probably for the best though; as strung out as they were, they couldn't afford to waste a drop of liquid.

Which reminded him.

He dug into the teen's pocket, retrieving one of the cans. He also realized with a sinking heart, it was their last can. Jason must have forgotten the other one when Dick had collapsed earlier.

Well, it wasn't ideal, having only one can of soda to share between them. Technically they still had the gin too, but Dick would rather save that for cleaning out any potential wounds. And people could live for a couple of days without water, wasn't that what he had heard?

"Here, drink this." He snapped the top off and offered it to the teen, who took it sheepishly.

"You need it, though," he argued back, voice cracked several different ways from thirst and emotions.

Dick licked his lips. He hated lying. He hated it with every fiber in his being. But desperate times and all that. "I'll have some later."

"But--"

"Jason. If you're going to get us out of here, you need to be as hydrated as possible, okay? I'll be... I can manage."

Quietly, the teen nodded. Still using Dick as a pillow, he cupped the beverage and sipped at it.

"Slowly, there you go." Dick brought a hand around to his forehead. "You're warm, but that's to be expected. How're you feeling?"

"Like I've been stuck in the desert all day."

Dick chuckled dryly. “Like I said, that’s to be expected.”

“You’re really warm too.”

“That’s also to be expected. I'll be fine. I need to cool off anyway."

"But--"

"The cold will do me some good."

The teen was shaking his head, trying and failing to find a point of contention to argue back with. "You're insane, you know that?"

A lopsided shrug. "I've been called worse."

It was a testament to the teen's deteriorating state that he didn't try to pick a fight or start a competition over who had really been called the worst and by whom. Instead, he sighed, eyeing the computer case in the disappearing sunlight.

"Ever get that thing working?" He sat up and grabbed it, handing it to Dick.

"I think so." It unlocked easily and they noticed a steadily blinking red light near the keyboard. "That means it's transmitting. Now whether that's our coordinates or a pizza delivery in space..."

Jason had a thought. A terrible, awful, depressing thought, but it was apparently here to stay. He studied the can. Maybe squeezing it tight enough would stop his hands from shaking. "What..." He pulled in long, steadying breath that did absolutely no good. "What if they don't make it? In time, I mean."

Dick sighed and somehow he seemed perfectly calm. Aside from the pained hitch at the end of his breath. And slight cough, followed by a larger cough, followed by him trying to discreetly wipe more blood from his teeth. Jason was watching him in worry, so Dick figured he ought to return it with some stability of his own.

"They'll make it. And if not them, Bruce at the very least. He had to have noticed we aren’t there by now."

Jason wanted to believe him. He really did. But the sun disappeared completely, making it almost impossible to see. They were tired, his body spent and Dick was barely holding on, despite all his charm and soothing words.

"I'm scared, man."

"I know."

"I mean, I've been scared before. Back when my stepdad would beat the shit out of me. Back when I didn't know where I was going to be sleeping that night because I'd be damned if I was going home. Back when..." He gulped loudly and looked away. The moon caught on a silent tear. "Plenty of times. But right here, right now? I gotta say; I am really fucking scared."

Dick understood. He was quaking himself. The fear of failure and death was the only thing keeping him conscious. It would be so easy to give up. To just lie down in the dirt and let the vultures have at his bones. And maybe it didn't need to be like that. Maybe if he had been quicker, thought faster, and acted better, the plane wouldn't have blown up. Maybe he could have saved more of the water if he had just tried. Maybe if he hadn't had wasted time trying to save Xiun (and Pike), Jason would have gotten clear enough from the blast to avoiding getting his shoulder dislocated.

Maybe, without all their injuries and disadvantages, they would have lasted longer than a day. Maybe they would have stood a chance.

Dick didn't consider himself a pessimist and he wasn't foolhardy enough to think he was an optimist. He classified himself as more of a realist, someone who saw the facts and decided on a logical outcome based on data and charts. Human behavior was easy to predict. This? This was like tying two feral cats together by the tails and then a tornado crashing through the window.

Before he could say anything, though, headlights flashed their direction, nearly blinding them.

"Oh shit!"

"Get down!" Dick grabbed the teen by the collar and pulled. They huddled together, using the small dune at their back for some cover.

"How'd they find us so fast?" Jason risked a glance over the peak but couldn't make out anything beyond way too many lights and figures moving within them.

"Your guess is as good as mine."

"They're looking this way! Shit!" He dropped down, staring at Dick with wide eyes. "What do we do?"

"We don't panic."

The soldiers shouted and some dank, dimly lit corner of Dick's brain spat out a few words at him. "They're searching."

"You speak Kuratan?"

"Shhh!" He listened. "Sounds like, they know we’re here, but not _right_ here. Just guessing in this general area."

"And what happens when they find us?"

Looking around, Dick spotted the soda can, glinting innocently in the searchlights. "We hope they don't!" He snatched it from the sand, a light sweeping over that area the second he was out. The can was still heavy. "Why didn't you drink this?"

"I did!"

"Not all of it!"

Jason ducked again. "You didn't say drink all of it!"

"I shouldn't have needed to!" Damnit. As much as they needed a distraction, he was unwilling to let an almost full can be sacrificed. He looked around, searching for anything they could use. Ideally, the soldiers would just move on before they searched this area, but Bruce always taught him never to rely on ideals.

Or, ummm.

To always be prepared, rather, just in case. He still had the case (non-negotiable), the can (not preferably), and the gin and... He yanked the strand of his shirt from around his face. 

It was perfect. It was doable. It might work. But they needed a light.

He dug out the gin. "You don't happen to have a lighter on hand?"

Jason frowned. "You serious?"

"Not my finest, but it'll have to do."

"Well make something else have to do because I am fresh out of my usual smokes."

"Damnit." Okay, back to the drawing board. The case (no), the can (no), the gin (he wished.) "Ugh!" he hissed, hitting his head into the sand. What we wouldn't give for a small something, anything, that was durable enough to throw at someone for a distraction.

The bulb above his head lit up brighter than the searchlights. "Hold that," he instructed, dropping the gin into Jason's lap. He dug into his pocket, struggling against the sand and the awkward angle and his stupid bruised kidney.

"Yes!"

"The busted monitor?"

Dick pulled himself forward, using the ground as his desktop. "Told you not to litter." He inspected the monitor briefly, looking at its seams and rounded edges. "Technically, these things are made outside the case, then assembled inside. It makes maintenance easier as you can just replace the broken or missing part and not need to manufacture a brand-new case."

Jason glanced back at the troops. "Okay, maybe skip the science lesson, MacGyver, and get to the part where that helps us escape."

"Well it won't. Not like this." He found a seam and dug his nails into it. He pulled and felt something inside him pull as well, but the monitor flipped apart easy enough.

"And it will now?"

"Hopefully." Dick tossed the outer shells aside and plucked the small circuit boards from the sand. He weighed them experimentally. Not great but would have to do. "Okay, here's the plan."

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

The soldiers inspected the area cautiously. They didn't exactly know who they were looking for - one rumor said extremists, another spies, a third suggested strategic hostages - all they cared about was bringing them in. The two were reported as dangerous, as evidenced by one of them making an entire squad of Humvees sink into the sand. Flashlights raised and guns raised higher, they covered the area with military precision.

Until one spotted something shiny in the sand and slinked off to investigate. He pawed at the object with his foot. It was... a computer chip? He stooped to pick it up when a second materialized a few feet ahead with a soft _thump_. Confused, he crept over to that one as well, when a third and fourth entered his vision. He skipped to the end, going to investigate the fourth. This one was bigger, with some wires attached to it. Kneeling, he picked up the strange object, wondering how in the world it got all the way out here.

He didn't see the teenage boy lurking in the shadow of a bush until--

A cough. The soldier’s flashlight whipped up to reveal the ghostly looking face of a white man, blinking dumbly at him. He was squatting near a bush, looking very much like he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. One of the infiltrators.

The soldier spun on his kneel, a warning hot on his lips. Instead, he was met with the cold steel of a metal case cracking him across the face. He was unconscious before he could even register his broken nose.

Jason stumbled, nearly tripping with the effort. He glared at Dick. "Are you serious with that?"

Dick shrugged. Jason rolled his eyes, but tossed him the case nonetheless. The older Robin caught it as the younger picked the solider up by his pits. Grunting, he dragged the man through the sand, guiding him down a small embankment. Dick was there waiting and snatched the man's radio, gun, and extra clips. Jason went for his pockets, searching with nimble fingers.

He caught Dick's suspicious frown.

"What? Isn’t exactly the first corpse I've pocketed for loose change."

"I didn't ask."

Jason gave a noise of success and produced a lighter.

Dick grinned, taking it from him.

Sitting back on his legs, Jason looked over the body. "Anything else you want?"

"Not unless you can swipe it in the next few seconds." Dick was peeking over their small dune, face illuminated in the searchlights. "They know he's missing."

"Step two, then."

Dick popped the cap of the gin off, stuffing a strip of his shirt into the neck. It slipped right back out; the fabric was too thin and slick to stay in. Bottle in one hand and lighter in the other, he looked like he had suddenly forgotten how to make a Molotov cocktail.

"His hat."

Jason yanked it off and offered it. The beanie fit perfectly into the bottle's neck, the thick cotton greedily soaking up the liquid.

Satisfied, Dick tucked the whole thing into the arm of the unconscious soldier, flicking the lighter. It responded immediately and Dick paused, checking in with Jason.

"You ready?"

The teen looked livelier than he had all day. "Let's do this."

With one nod, Dick lit the other end of the beanie. The fire took quickly, slowly climbing the thick fabric. The Robins were already gone, disappearing into the night with their spoils.

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

**A MILITARY BASE, SOUTHERN BIALYA  
598 MILES FROM THE BORDER**

_"There seems to have been some new developments, sir."_

"What is it?" Bruce asked. A guard stepped in his way, commanding him to stop. He got the same treatment the previous eight had; a swift decommissioning.

_"According to Kuratan military chatter, it would appear as if a particular squad has been ambushed. They are reporting no casualties, and one of their Humvees has mysteriously gone missing."_

Bruce kicked down a door. He ignored the civilians inside, shitting themselves in fear as he pounded a few buttons. Sirens blared as the ceiling to the hangar started lifting open.

"How'd it happen?" he continued, swinging another door off its hinges as he burst through. A line of soldiers was clambering up the staircase to keep him from reaching the ground. He ducked under one, grabbed his belt, and rolled him over the railing. "And where are they now?"

_"Estimated location is thirteen forty-five miles South of the border. And, according to the reports... A Molotov cocktail."_

Bruce's fine leather shoes hit the cement floor of the hangar, a body falling limply behind him. Several more littered the staircase, limbs bent at weird angles and weapons entangled around them in a bizarre modern art display.

He smirked proudly.

So Dick was still alive after all.

He approached a helicopter. The pilot was staring at him - the man who had just dispatched every single armed and unarmed guard and soldier inside the military hangar without so much as breaking stride. The door was yanked open and the man yelped, sweating. He offered the mysterious stranger a nervous grin.

Bruce raised a single eyebrow at him.

"Wh--where to, sir?"

Very smart response. Bruce climbed inside.

_"How goes the infiltration, sir?"_

Bruce swiped at some pesky wrinkles on his coat. "Getting into the air now."

_"Only now? I don't mean to be brash, sir, but are you perhaps losing your touch?"_

Causally, Bruce surveyed the carnage as they lifted off the ground. Once in the air, though, he swiftly undid the pilot’s belt, swung open the door, and shoved him out.

The man fell screaming.

Bruce slid into the driver's seat, taking the headphones. He dug out the pistol hidden under the seat and eyed it. A Luger? Honestly.

"Perhaps I am, Alfred."

He tossed it somewhere behind him. The instruments blinked and he took half a moment to orient himself with their Bialyan labels. Satisfied and already having wasted enough time, he flew out of the hangar, squeezing through the still-opening doors, and rocketed south.

Hang on, Dick. Just hang on a little longer.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they finally make contact with Bruce, Bruce realizes it’s not one son he’s rescuing but two, Dick goes down hard, and Jason fights a ninja. Kori and Rachel also finish their movie, but neither enjoys it.

**NORTHERN KURAT  
1149 MILES FROM THE BORDER**

The Humvee raced along the sand, kicking up smoke and dust in its wake. It was fully night now, and Dick had elected to use the headlights and floor it rather than taking the slow, cautious route; it would still be quite some time before they reached the border, but the more ground they put between themselves and the soldiers looking for them, the better.

Without the sun it was almost impossible to estimate the time, but it had to be around twenty-one and twenty-two hundred.

Jason sneezed again and felt the need to apologize. "Stupid sand," he sniffed, wiping his nose. The case was open and balancing on his lap, the red light blinking steadily. He wanted to pester Dick and triple check he was _sure_ it was working. Not because he doubted the older Robin's knowledge of his own gear; he was just that bored and being idle had never sat well with him.

The air whipped at their faces, the already chilled wind taking bites at them. He would have preferred a vehicle with a top. Or maybe some paved roads. Or how about a trip to Europe while he was asking?

Eventually, they came to a particularly hilly area and Dick slowed to a stop. Jason pulled his scarf down and sat up, scanning the terrain before them carefully. Sand. Just more sand and shrubbery.

He looked at Dick, who had his forehead against the wheel. His breaths were sharp and quick and Jason suddenly wondered how he was taking the rough ride with his whole internal bleeding situation.

"You want me to drive?" He wasn't serious.

"Yeah." Dick was.

Jason couldn't help it. He grinned, eyes bright even as the older Robin stumbled out of the cab. "Wait, seriously?"

Dick's legs gave out and he rolled into the sand, landing wheezing on his back. He yanked the scarf down from his nose and coughed shallowly.

"Oh shit." Jason scrambled out after him, tossing the case to the back.

Dick had managed to turn onto his right side, arms clutched tightly around his middle. Jason knelt, hands hovering and being very mindful of the tender areas of his... well, everything. With Dick facing the Humvee, the teen couldn't make out his face, but the low keening noises were enough to paint a pretty vivid picture.

"You need to rest. Sleep it off,” he recommended. Wrapping an arm around Dick’s shoulders, he checked the man's temperature. "Damnit you're still way too hot."

Dick shuddered against the icy hand. "And you're...way too cold..." If he was being honest - which he rarely did these days - he wasn't sure he could make it anymore. He felt - fucking _felt_ \- blood seep into places inside of him it wasn't supposed to be, but he lacked the energy to even cough it out. The only thing keeping him from passing out was the horrendous rollercoaster his equilibrium went on whenever he closed his eyes. Still, the headlights of the Humvee hurt too much. The rough sand beneath him hurt too much. _He_ hurt too much.

He whimpered and gasped for air. His body seized up with pain and he couldn't breathe. Which he very much needed to do because he was also damn near hyperventilating. Air was coming and going too quickly for his lungs to manage. He had been in pain before. But this, this was agony.

Jason was saying something behind him and he could recognize a lecture when he heard it. To be fair, he deserved this one. If they died out here, it would absolutely be his fault.

"Here."

Dick blinked, and blinked a few more times, waiting impatiently for his vision to clear. It didn't, but he managed to make out something cylindrical and shiny being shoved into his face.

Jason took his noise of confusion for what it was. "The rest of the soda. Just take it, alright?"

Shakily, Dick unclenched a hand and grasped at the can. "How... how'd it make it?"

"Because your boy's got skills, that’s how." Jason clicked his tongue in a very self-congratulatory manner that wasn't at all befitting a proper young man.

"Thanks..." Dick mumbled. Then, slowly, he realized he wouldn't be able to drink it horizontally. Because, last he checked, gravity didn't work that way. "Help m' up."

Jason took the can back and waited until Dick rolled over. Taking his arms, the teen maneuvered him to slouch against the front tire, swaying and tilting dangerously. It didn't look at all comfortable, but from the look on Dick's face, Jason didn't think anything would've been comfortable anymore.

"Here," the teen offered quietly. He brought the can up to Dick's chapped lips, tilting it. They lost several precious drops of liquid out the side, but Dick seemed to be taking it well enough. Until he wasn't.

Shoving Jason aside, the older Robin sputtered and coughed, doubling over as he vomited up dark liquid. Jason didn't need to see well to know what it was.

"Goddamnit!" he hissed, crawling back forward (and who in their right mind allowed Dick to be _that_ strong in the first place?) Dick titled to the side, landing heavily against Jason's support. He could either throw up or hold himself up, not both. Jason shifted with a disgusted groan as a second splash of stomach fluid splattered to the ground, nearly missing his shoes.

"S-sorry," Dick choked, the apology sounding more like a gurgle than actual words. But the message got across.

Once his stomach had settled, Jason guided him back to slouch against the tire. Looking at him, Jason realized there was a fine line between looking like a living man and a corpse. And Dick was somersaulting all over it. Jason checked his pulse. Thready at best. Nonexistent at worse.

"Man, no offense but..." He shook his head, laughing sadly. "How are you not dead yet?"

Dick gasped out a chuckle. He shrugged, head still lolling and eyes glazed. "Promised."

"Yeah... yeah, I guess you did," Jason sighed and looked at the discarded can. "You wanna try again?"

The swaying became jerkier and slightly more controlled and Jason took it as a no. Which wasn't good.

"Come on. You need something inside you. Some sort of liquid and... Grape Fanta is all we got."

Dick flopped his hand across his lap, apparently dismissing the idea. "No, thanks."

Chewing his lip, Jason wondered if, for perhaps once in his life, he could take the older Robin one-on-one. Maybe force some carbonated goddamn chemicals down his throat.

Back in the Humvee, the case made a noise.

"Be right back!" He rounded the vehicle and retrieved the computer, balancing it on the passenger's seat.

"What is it?" Dick moaned curiously.

"I don't know." Well, without the monitor it was a little hard to tell, now wasn't it?

"Bring it ov'r 'ere."

Jason obeyed, placing the heavy device in Dick's lap. With a lot of undue effort, the man squinted at the keyboard, willing the keys to stop multiplying and stand still, damnit. Squeezing his eyes shut because the world was rocking back and forth again, he waved a hand.

"Tell me... the light."

"Uhh.." Jason peeked around the side. "Still red."

"Blinking?"

"Yeah. Beep-beep. …beep. ...beep." He glanced back at Dick, hoping for some sort of clarification. The man’s eyebrows were creased, lips tight and nose wrinkled. After a second Jason realized it was in concentration, not pain. His head bobbed slightly in the rhythm Jason had just set.

"Okay. Okay. Ummm..." He scrubbed at his face and Jason almost cried because that was _such_ a Dick thing to do. "Type this."

The teen swiveled the case to face him, hands hovering expectantly. "Ready."

"Ctrl, F5. Ctrl, F5. F11. Ctrl, Alt, Delete."

"Done."

"What's the light?"

He checked again. "Still red. Beep, beep-beep, beep." Was it just him, or had the blinking changed?

"Good."

Apparently it wasn't just him.

"Now this..." Dick spouted a few more keystrokes. The longer they went, the harder it became for Jason to keep up. The task seemed to be reviving Dick and the codes started to get longer and more complex. Jason didn't know a lot about coding, but he certainly recognized an SOS when he typed one.

"Morse code," he gasped, glancing from the blinking light to Dick. And never, not once in the history of ever, had Jason _ever_ been happy to see that all-knowing smirk grace the older Robin's face. "Son of a jack. You actually did it."

" _We_ did it. And it's not over yet." Dick had yet to open his eyes but did at least drop his arm from shielding them protectively. He swallowed dryly. "Type this on the space bar...."

A few minutes passed and the Robins had, in clipped and selective language, transmitted a brief summary of the situation, their estimated distance from the border, and yet another SOS to whoever was on the other end.

Mind whirling and adrenaline pumping steadily, Jason laughed. They did it. They had communicated with the outside world - help was on the way. "Go team!" he cheered, raising a hand for a celebratory high-five. No response.

He glanced back just in time to catch Dick before he hit the ground. "Dick! Jesus, dude!" He shifted in the sand, adjusting the taller man against him. Some more muttering and two slaps to his cheek confirmed what Jason had suspected; he was unconscious.

The teen grabbed at the case, yanking it to him. He had been fluent in Morse Code once upon a time too, you know. Luckily, there was no better refresher course than the ultimate pass or fail format: remember or die. Shaking, he slapped the space bar rhythmically, praying to whoever was up there that whoever was on the other line was still listening.

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

**SOUTHERN BIALYA  
237 MILES FROM THE BORDER**

_"We are receiving another signal from Master Dick's mobile computer,”_ Alfred informed.

Bruce frowned at a strange buzzing in his pocket. Reaching, he retrieved his phone, squinting at the caller ID. "Kori is calling; reroute the call through the Cave."

_"Right away, sir. I shall also translate the incoming message from Master Dick in the meantime."_

Kori’s voice filled his headset. _"Bruce?"_

"Kori, what's wrong?"

_"I just remembered something. About Dick."_

Alfred interrupted quietly in the background: _"The message is translated."_

"Go ahead."

_"He didn't leave alone."_

_“'Robin...needs...SOS.'”_

Bruce's heart fluttered. "Say that again."

_"The message goes--"_

"No. Kori, say that again."

_"Jason was giving fits and Dick thought it would be good for him to come along. It was last-minute and he didn’t tell you."_

_"Master Bruce, this message indicates it was not sent from Master Dick."'_

Bruce's entire world screeched to a stop.

Robin needs SOS.

Dick had decided to take Jason with him.

Shit.

Dick had decided to take Jason with him. To Bialya. To the plane crash.

 _Shit_.

_"Bruce...?"_

"Thanks, Kori. We'll get them back." He hung up. "Alfred, send back this code..."

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

Jason had given up on the case. As far as he could tell the message had gone through just fine. He had wracked his brain, even writing out the letters in the sand, and was positive he had spelled everything correctly. Still, there was no response and he was starting to doubt he would get one. He cast a long, mournful look to the starry sky. Dick was slumped semi-comfortably against the Humvee, breathing evened out significantly now that he was dead to the world.

Jason swallowed back tears. He suddenly felt so very, very alone.

The case blinked at him. He ignored it. Then it kept blinking, the frequency of the blinks alternating. It looked mighty purposeful, almost as if someone was--

He scrambled to the case in a flurry of sand and tentative hopes. He read the blinks.

_"W-H-I-C-H-R-O-B-I-N"_

He responded with the number one.

_"W-H-O-S-T-H-I-S "_

He could've cried. In exhaustion or relief, he wasn't sure. "2."

_"H-E-L-P-I-N-B-O-U-N-D-S-T-A-Y-S-A-F-E-S-O-N."_

This time, he definitely cried. And it was definitely in relief.

"Hurry up, Bruce."

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

**TITANS TOWER  
SAN FRANCISCO**

Kori hung up the phone, holding it close. Eyes tightly shut, she let out a shaky breath, trying and failing to calm the fire licking at the frayed nerves under her skin. How could she have forgotten to tell Bruce Jason was tagging along for the signing? She had assumed Dick had told him, but then remembered the playful smirk and mischievous glint in his large eyes as he had wondered just how Bruce would react to receiving both his kids, not just one.

"Damnit." She needed a drink.

Stomping to the kitchen, she slapped her phone onto the counter and marched to the cupboard of booze. Tequila. She needed to be drunk and fast and hopefully forget all about her incompetence for the time being.

"Kori?" Rachel stood quietly in the doorway, hair tussled from many failed attempts at sleep.

"Hey, kiddo," the woman sighed, retrieving a glass and pouring herself several fingers of the liquid. "Couldn't sleep?"

The girl shook her head and slipped onto one of the stools. Kori loved this child. She really, truly did. And she was trying her damnedest to be a good leader and worthy mother-figure for her, for Gar, for everyone. Still, she wasn't above admitting she was no Dick Grayson. She didn't have his unlimited patience nor his god-like ability to put the whole entire world on pause just because someone gave him sad eyes.

She downed a generous gulp of the liquid, hoping it would give her a portion of Dick's courage. "Do you want something to drink?"

Rachel's clear eyes shifted from her to the glass pointedly.

"Oh, no. _God_ no. I meant some hot chocolate or something."

"I think I'm fine..." The girl snuggled into her arms, which were folded on the fine wood.

"Well..." Kori certainly didn't have all the answers but she was trying. "How about--"

"Did you call Batman?"

Another mouthful. "I did."

"How'd he take it? Is he going to find them?"

She laughed sardonically. "Baby, if anyone can, it's him. Trust me."

The girl nodded, not looking convinced. "When will we know?"

She would need more booze more for this. "As soon as he tells us."

"Okay."

"Okay."

They got lost in their own minds, thoughts swirling and anxieties high, before Rachel spoke up again. "I'm scared."

Kori sighed because this she could handle. Setting the glass down, she rounded the island. Rachel melted into her hug, eager and happy to receive.

"I know, Rache. I know. I am too."

"Are they going to be okay?"

"Do you mean is Dick going to let anything happen to either of them?" The woman pulled back, giving Rachel her best disbelieving stare. "You do realize this is Dick and Jason, right? We both know those two are utterly and entirely incapable of getting out of a paper bag, much less going and letting themselves die in some desert somewhere."

Rachel's smirk reached her eyes and Kori had to sigh in relief. Another job well done. Another Best Mom Ever moment for the books.

"Can I stay up a little longer?"

The woman scoffed at her. "I should think so! If I recall correctly, we were only halfway through Godzilla Vs Mothman and I, for one, won't be able to sleep a wink until I know who wins."

"Okay, thanks. But it's Mothra."

"Whatever."

The two laughed, Rachel hopping off her stool. Kori escorted her to the great room. No matter how this ended, she was certain that she would be getting no less than one Robin back. Though, in her heart of hearts, she didn't have to wonder which one it would be.

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

**NORTHERN KURAT  
778 MILES FROM THE BORDER**

Dick awoke to the ever-familiar sounds of a struggle. Jason muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Oh shit!" before his warm body disappeared. Dick missed it. He wondered where the teen had run off to.

Managing to lift his head, he squinted against the harsh lights surrounding their Humvee. They cut through the blackness of the desert night, throwing half the world into harsh shadows. Jason practically glowed with the lights to his back as he ducked and kicked, taking on a slew of soldiers. Their tactical armor gave them the advantage, and they knew it, going after the teen in waves.

Suddenly someone was next to him and Dick sent them a mean frown because _rude_. He took in the man's face - Middle Eastern - and watched idly as he shouted something at the other soldiers. In his peripheral, he saw Jason take a kick to the knee and go down.

"No!" the teen was shrieking in rage, looking back at them. "Don't you touch him!"

Dick realized too late he was being touched. Grabbed by either arm he was hoisted to his feet. As soon as he was up, he fell back down. Where were his legs? Why couldn't he feel them?

Jason sputtered as someone gave his jaw a solid right hook. He was trying so hard; Dick could see the flames in his eyes. They were small, but every bit as intense as ever. Bruce would be so proud to see him now.

Hell, Dick was proud and he was standing a few feet away. Oh, right. He couldn't stand. The soldiers dropped him and suddenly all he could see was sand. Did he not have arms? This didn’t make sense. Why wasn't his body responding to him? He knew it was still there, but for whatever reason, he couldn't feel it.

A boot stomped on his back and he sure as fuck felt _that_. Honestly, he wasn't even sure if he screamed first or went straight to blacking out. All he knew was that everything was either misfiring or shutting down completely and Jason was screaming. Loudly.

Oh, no _Jason_. _His_ Jason.

Clarity snapped back to Dick in an instant. Suddenly he could think again, he could see again, he could find something in his field of vision and track its movement again. And he could feel again. Which _sucked_. But he could also move again. Which didn’t suck.

The soldier who had found him shouted at him to get up, to get on his feet. His boot swung back and Dick's arms snapped around it like a trap. Confused, the man froze, which was all the time Dick needed. Snapping to his hip, he grabbed the pistol he had stolen earlier and fired three rounds into the second soldier standing nearby. Then two under the body armor of the one who had kicked him.

Two down.

Using the Humvee to pull himself to his feet - his legs still weren't responding and that was only a little troubling – he took in the scene around him. They were being ambushed from all sides, a squad of eleven (out of the original thirteen) soldiers descending on them, using the darkness to their advantage.

The darkness.

Dick raised the gun and fired at the Humvees surrounding them. Two shots, two blinding headlights no longer operational.

Somewhere Jason picked up a gun as well (because apparently that wasn't allowed until the higher ranking of them had one) and started firing. A soldier crumpled to the ground and Dick shot through the empty air he had just been occupying. Three shots. Two headlights and a bonus kill.

Nine left.

Someone else clocked Jason from behind and the kid stumbled. The man tackled him to the ground, pinning him to the sand and grasping for the gun. Dick fired twice.

Eight left.

"Thanks!"

The older Robin nodded once. Suddenly his arms shot up, blocking a punch. His back slammed into the Humvee and god- _damnit_ that hurt. The man continued punching at him, driving him further into the vehicle.

"Duck!" he was instructed. So duck he did. His legs gave out and he fell backward into the driver's seat. Jason was vaulting over him in an instant. He looped himself around the man's neck and twisted. They fell. Robin bounced back up.

Seven left.

"Thanks," Dick wheezed, pulling at the awkward angle he had landed at. Jason smirked back at him, looking every bit the kickass crime fighter he fancied himself as.

"You good?" He grabbed Dick’s hand and pulled, and suddenly Dick was sitting upright and the world was spinning at the edges.

"I will be." And he meant it. It was the same fervor and stubborn pride that had kept him from going into shock back inside the plane, that kept him walking, running, driving and fighting to get them to this moment (and, hopefully, beyond.) He would make it through this. Coming out the other side intact was a whole other story, though. But for now, for the seven men still left, he would manage.

Jason nodded, believing him and Dick almost went weak in the knees for totally different reasons. He absolutely did not deserve the teen’s undying faith in him.

They fought, taking down the armored soldiers best they could. They tag-teamed and four more fell quickly. Taking the standing total to three.

Three left. And one of them had the case.

"Shit!" Jason bolted after him before Dick could call him back. It was moments like these that Jason's blinders became sorely obvious. Training would help but being able to see the big picture could only come with time and experience. And Dick's experience was telling him to screw the case, because he would rather lose it and avoid capture.

Dick looked back at the soldier he had on the ground, arm extended up and twisted harshly. He didn't have time. With a yank and punch, the man went down, arm bending four ways it ought not to.

Two left.

He pivoted and raced after Jason because the teen had tunnel vision and was being stupid. But he was close. So close to getting the case back.

He didn't see the man in riot gear materialize out of the darkness.

But Dick did. He lunged forward as the man charged, barely managing to send the teen flying into the sand as a large metal baton swung through the air. Dick caught it in his palms and pushed, diverting the arc to miss him entirely.

Jason rolled to a stop and was immediately at his feet, ready to bite the head off of whoever had body-slammed him. He saw Dick square off against a man his height if not taller than (which was a feat in of itself) and probably twice as wide.

Dick slid his hands to the handle of the baton, winding their hands together and twisted. The man gasped. The baton thumped to the sand.

Jason was in a little bit of awe. It was like they were always saying; sometimes they couldn’t rely purely on brute force.

"Go," Dick instructed with a nod and Jason took off in a sprint after the case.

The teen raced through the last remaining headlights, finding himself suddenly alone in the dark. His quick breaths caught in the cool air. He pivoted in tight circles, wondering where the soldier with the case had disappeared to. He heard Dick grunt, the ever-familiar sounds of fists on armor filtering in from the battle zone to his back.

But that wasn’t his concern right now. He needed to find the case.

Movement to his left and he spun. A flash in the darkness and he spun back.

The person who had stolen the case was toying with him. And it was getting old.

"The hell are you supposed to be? Some sort of ninja Aladdin?" he taunted, hissing angrily into the darkness. He was too tired, too sore, and, frankly, had too few fucks left to give for this.

A small blinking light in this distance caught his eye. The case. He scrambled for it, only to be taken to the ground from behind.

“Get off!” he shouted, thrashing wildly. Grabbing a clump of sand, he twisted and threw it into the other’s face. They choked and backed off. Jason flipped onto his back, fists at the ready.

But the soldier was already gone. Forget old; this was starting to get spooky.

He clambered to his feet, searching the area with wide eyes. “This is getting old!” he spat out. “Get out here and fight me!”

A blast of cold air on his back and he stumbled, reaching around to feel his back. The leather had one long scratch in it. It wasn’t enough to do damage, but it still pissed him off.

“This is my favorite jacket, you asshole!”

Another gust and he leapt backward just fast enough to dodge a strike to his thigh. A third and he protected his face with an arm.

“You enjoying yourself, dirtbag?!” he hissed.

He heard a small hissing sound that reminded him an awful lot like a snake. More specifically, a snake who was laughing at him.

Yelling, Jason threw a fist through the air. Someone shifted.

“Got you!” he spun at the last second, grinding into the sand and squatting under the knife that was coming at him. The teen grabbed the extended arm from below, twisted, and threw. The soldier slammed back first into the ground. They scrambled to their feet, staring in shock at the teen.

Jason smirked back. He spat to the side, a plop of blood squelching onto the sand. “You’re mine now, jackass.” Turns out, brute force was exactly what he needed to take down twinkle toes.

The soldier charged again and Jason pounded a fist into their sternum. Another flash and the top of his hand was sliced into. A small sacrifice, though, as the teen hooked a leg around the other’s knee, sending them flying forward. He followed, hot on their tail, and straddled their legs.

One punch, two punch, a block, three and four. The soldier stilled. 

Panting, Jason climbed to his feet.

One left.

And that last one was Dick’s problem. Jason staggered to the case, kicking at it roughly. It spun and he looked it over. The light was still blinking steadily. Good. That’s all they needed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dick finishes his fight against the behemoth soldier from the raid and starts one with Jason. Jason fights back, words are said, and secrets are revealed. Later, they are blown up for the third time and realize just how much they can take.

**NORTHERN KURAT  
778 MILES FROM THE BORDER**

Dick’s ankle gave and he fell sideways into the sand. He didn’t have time to recover, though, eyes widening in terror. Muttering a short curse, he rolled. A meaty fist pounded into the dirt beside him.

Dick rolled and kept rolling, slipping down a small embankment. He scrambled to his feet at the bottom, hair tussled and every inch of him covered in sticky sand. The behemoth coming after him took one long step down the slope, landing at the base with a thump.

Okay, this was bad. The man towered over Dick by half a head easily had a spare hundred pounds on him, tactical armor aside. At some point not too long ago he had been armed to the teeth with a veritable arsenal of small weapons. Thanks to Dick’s quick jabs and even quicker fingers, though, their fight had been reduced mainly to hand-to-hand combat. Which, unfortunately, gave the Kuratan a noticeable advantage.

But Dick was smart, he was quick, and he was impossibly agile.

The lug charged and Dick shoulder rolled out of the way. He landed in an uncoordinated flop, struggling to a low crouch. He’d never be able to take on the soldier like this. The wound to his kidney had made his entire left side basically worthless and he had spent all the energy from his nap earlier taking out the other soldiers with Jason. The world still spun if he thought about it too much and he couldn’t tell if the darkness helped or hurt his nausea.

His only advantage was that his adversary was not only built like a tank but moved like one too. He was slow, his movements wide and predictable. Dick could see them coming from a mile away. Now if he could just muster the strength somehow to use that.

He panted, sizing the large man up and down. “You’re a big one, ain’t yah?” He yelped and ducked, dodging a wide swing at his head. Staying in his crouch, he spun the sand, pivoting away from a heavy stomp. He came to a stop around the man’s left side and gave the back of his knee a swift kick.

The behemoth growled and staggered but did not fall. Damn, this guy was tough. Dick had really been hoping that would get him to the ground, at least partially so, so he could for his neck.

Still, no time but the present. Standing, he grabbed the man by the back of his shoulders, kneeing him hard in the leg. It took twice as many hits as Dick wanted, but he eventually stumbled with an unintelligent grunt. His left knee thudded hard into the sand and Dick was rolling across his back like a platform, snatching a knife from his belt as he went.

Boots hit the sand in front of the behemoth and Dick climbed, using his bent leg as a step stool. He wrapped his legs around the soldier’s neck and hung on. Large hands gripped his hips, then his sides. Dick screamed as the meaty fingers duck into the tender area on his back.

Smoothly, he retrieved the knife, gripped the handle tight, and plunged it into the giant man’s skull.

None left.

They stilled. Dick panted loudly, gasping for air as his adrenaline ran out. The behemoth titled forward and Dick stepped off. He landed in the sand and immediately collapsed to his right side, arms clutching at himself desperately.

"Not bad."

He looked up to see Jason standing on the top of the small hill, looking a bit tattered but still in one piece. The teen gestured somewhere behind him. "Got mine first, though."

"Yeah..." Dick panted, wiping some moisture from his chin. He frowned when it came back clear. Huh. Could have sworn he had taken it to the face at some point. With a sigh he unclenched and stumbled upright, looking at the younger Robin. "Nicely done."

The teen rolled his eyes, smirking cockily. "Yeah, well, would have been faster if I wasn’t so tired.”

"What matters is you did it..." Dick heaved himself up the hill. “…in… the end.” He stumbled halfway up, collapsing heavily to his hands and knees.

"Oh, come on…!" Jason sighed, trudging through the sane to Dick’s side. A fountain of blood spewed from the man’s mouth as he vomited. He gagged around it, spitting and trying to breathe.

Somewhere, Jason heard someone talking. He knew it wasn't him, and it clearly wasn't Dick. So that meant... He turned, locking eyes with one lone felled soldier.

Damnit. One left.

"Stay right here, buddy.”

"Jason--"

But he was already gone. He rose silently, boots stomping through the sand as he stalked to the man. The soldier tried to scramble away, chattering into his radio. His arm dragged uselessly beside him, leaving a bloody smear in the sand. Jason eyed it. Must have been one of Dick's. He liked that kind of thing.

He drew his arm back, fist at the ready.

A textbook hit.

The man slumped over.

None left.

He turned back to Dick, who had finished throwing up and was now kneeling in it, forehead pressed to the ground. Gross.

"Any idea what this bootlicker was saying?" the teen asked.

Panting deeply, the older Robin looked at him. He blinked sluggishly and looked an awful lot like he didn’t want to be conscious right now. "They know we're here."

"Of course they do."

That meant that they had to move. Jason trudged forward, ready to hoist the old man back to their Humvee. "I am so sick of these guys!" he whined, grabbing Dick by the arm.

The older Robin waved him off. "The case..."

“Already got it.”

“Nice.”

Together they hiked back to the Humvee. Jason dropped Dick heavily into the passenger seat, the older looking a hair’s breadth away from passing out. The teen rounded back to his side and kicked a body out of the way. Dick waved him forward once he was settled, case flung to the bag and nice, his can had survived. He grabbed it.

"Go,” Dick instructed.

"Happily." Jason grabbed the key, still in the ignition, and twisted.

The engine sputtered and spat, stubbornly refusing to start. The Robins frowned at it.

"Oh no no no!" He tried again.

"Try it again!"

"What do you think I'm doing!" Several tries later the engine stopped reacting altogether. Dick groaned in his throat, hands scrubbing at his stubble. They must have left it on when they had to emergency stop earlier. Damnit, this was all his fault.

"Okay. Go. Get out."

"What?"

"Go… get another Humvee."

"Uh, you kind of shot out the headlights on the rest of them, or did you forget?"

He had. " _Shit_."

Still, moving slowly was better than not moving at all.

Jason was staring at him. "In this darkness? Are you out of your mind? We'll be eaten alive out there. Or roll and break our necks. Or get stuck in some hole somewhere like sitting ducks!"

"Look, I know you don't like it--"

"No! As a matter of fact, I hate it!"

"--But right now, it's our only option--"

" _Bruce_ is coming!"

That gave Dick pause. "W...What? What're you talking about?" he asked, squinting as if the moonlight was too bright.

Jason sucked in a breath. "Earlier, when you had your little passing out party, I got back on the radio. I sent a message. He responded. Said help was inbound."

“What’d you say?”

“ ‘Robin needs SOS.’ ”

“And what’d he say?”

“Help inbound.”

"How do you know it was him?"

"Because..." That moment came flooding back to him, relief sweeping over him in a tidal wave. Bruce had called him son. _Him_. Jason fucking Todd, Bruce Wayne’s son. "I, uh, I just do, okay? We... codes and stuff, you know how he is."

Dick did, deciding not to fight him about it. He didn't have the energy to anyway. "Alright. Alright, so Bruce is coming. He didn’t mention how far out he was?"

"No. And he didn't say _he_ was coming. Just that help was." The younger Robin shared eyes with the older. "Yeah, you're right, he's coming."

"Yes. But... Jason. We have to think realistically here. He was in Bialya. That's still about a thousand miles from here. Even in a chopper, even in a _jet_ , it will be hours before he's anywhere close to us. We need to keep moving.”

"And how's he gonna follow us if we do?"

"Same way he has been." He motioned to two things; the case and it's Sat Nav equipment and the carnage around them. For some strange reason, the thought of them leaving a trail of bodies and broken military parts through this forsaken desert brought a proud smirk to Jason's face. Weird, that.

"Okay. Fine. But that still doesn't fix _this_!" He slapped the steering wheel and quickly crossed his arms because that didn't hurt his hand at all.

"This isn't the end." Dick paused for another minor round of coughing. At this point, he wasn't even bothering to wipe off the blood. Jason wondered if that was conscious or if he was so far gone, he genuinely didn't notice it anymore. Or he just didn’t care. "The battery probably just died. We can take one from those other Humvees and stick it in this one."

"And how long is that going to take?"

Dick's large eyes slipped closed and he gripped all sides of the Humvee. Stupid world, deciding to go apeshit and spin around all the time. Real convenient that. "Doesn't really matter at this point. It's our only plan."

" _Or_ , we wait for Bruce."

"We've been over this--"

"Dick! You asked me to take charge! You said that, to me! _'Jason if you don't take over, we're going to die_!'"

"Pretty sure those weren’t my exact words--"

"I don't care what your exact words were! The point is, you put _me_ in charge. You told _me_ to lead and promised you would follow." He slumped back, daring Dick to argue him. "Or was that just during the easy parts? When all we had to do was pick a direction and walk. Now that it’s down to the big boy decisions, suddenly you’re fine and should be taking over all over again!"

Dick, steadily growing paler and eyes still closed, raised a hand. "I know you're scared--"

"Fuck right I'm scared!"

"--but now really isn't the time for this. We..." He sighed, other hand tenderly cradling his head. "You can't spend your whole life waiting for Bruce to save your ass."

That was absolutely the wrong thing to say and he knew it instantly. Another big clue was how Jason muttered a rather colorful swear at him specifically and climbed out of the Humvee. Dick couldn't see where he went and, he had to admit, losing immediate contact with the teen terrified him more than anything.

"Jason, that's not… That's not what I meant."

"You meant I'm incapable of making the big choices or taking a shit without Bruce or _you_ there to tell me how to wipe! _That’s_ what you meant!"

"No, it's not!"

"Well then please, oh fearless leader, bestow upon me some of your age-old wisdom!"

Dick slammed a hand against the dash, turning to glare at him, large eyes open and harsh. "I'm just trying to get you out of here alive!"

Jason wouldn’t be undone by the unshed tears in the man’s eyes. "Yeah, so am I! You think I want to die out here next to your sorry ass?"

Quieting, Dick bowed his head and bit his lip. It quivered. Jason blinked as the man sniffed, swiping a hand across his dripping eyes.

The teen frowned. "Wait. Wait, you don't mean..."

"I don't know if I'm going to make it, Jason." He pulled in a shaky breath, one hand rising to hide his face. "I'm tired, and I'm thirsty, and I'm bleeding internally from this fucking bruised kidney and I... I can't even open my eyes without the world spinning so much I want to vomit. And if anything happens to you because of me..."

Jason huffed irritably. Of course he had known Dick was looking out for him, that he was doing all of this to get him out alive. He just sort of also figured Dick had factored himself somewhere into that equation as well.

"Look, I don't care what happens to me, alright?" Dick continued and Jason wanted him to shut the hell up right now. "I don't. If it's my time out here, so be it. If I end up vulture food, fine by me. But I am not - am _not_ \- having a Robin's blood on my hands. I..." He swallowed loudly. Then, almost impossibly quiet: " _Your_ blood."

"And what about Bruce?"

"Bruce will follow us with the tracker--”

“No, Dick! Get your head out of your ass and think about someone else for a change! I meant, how do you think Bruce is going to take it when he finds out what happened, huh? Did you think about that or did you just get stuck again on the death wish hamster wheel in your brain?”

It took a long moment for Dick to respond: “Bruce will get over it."

"Oh, for Christ sake--"

"No, he will, alright? Trust me, Jason, you don't know him like I do. I... back when I was Robin - when I was still just a kid and everything happened with my parents, I wanted revenge. I wanted justice for them, for their killer to go to jail. But I guess what I really wanted was something to live for. A reason to keep going. So, Robin became my reason. Then the Titans, and now, well...” He sighed. "It wasn't until years later, after I left Gotham and started coming to terms with things, did I realize; I was just as much Bruce's reason to keep going as Robin was mine. And now... Now, Jason, he has you. _You’re_ his reason now."

"He still loves you, dude."

A strangled sob broke free before he could stop it. "I know. I _know_ , damnit! But, Jason... Losing one Robin he can manage. Hell, he'd even get over losing a son eventually. But both? At the same time?"

"Both what? A Robin or a son?"

"You."

No. No, that wasn't good enough. "Bullshit, man. What, what about the Titans? About Kori and Rachel and Gar? Don't they deserve something too?"

"I'm not saying I want to die! I'm saying that it's... I can feel it coming. Probably sooner rather than later. So if you could, just, _please_ , let me do what I can to make sure it's not in vain."

Jason huffed and looked around. He wanted to argue, to scream and yell and maybe throw punches if that's what it took to get through Dick's dumbass brain that he wasn't going to die out here. He was pretty banged up, sure, they both were. But they were still kicking. Still fighting. Still Robins. And Jason would be damned if he let one of his best friends die on his watch.

"No way, man."

Dick groaned as the teen climbed into the vehicle next to him. "Jason, please! Why can’t you just let me do this?"

"Because fuck that, that's why!" He tried the ignition again. "Because I will not let this desert beat us!" Another try. "Because we are goddamn _Robins_ , that's why!" Another. The engine sputtered. "And I will not be the one to tell Bruce I left his firstborn to die in some half-assed, self-sacrificing _bullshit_ heroic effort to save me." The lights flickered. "Because, guess what, I know Bruce too, asshole. And the only reason he didn't sit you down then and there that night and force you to sign those adoption papers is because _you_ didn't want to. Not because of some grand scheme or elaborate plot. You said no, like an idiot, so Bruce dropped it."

The engine roared to life.

Jason gripped the wheel. "And I'm not letting him make that same mistake twice." He revved it and the Humvee roared, tires eating into the sand. They swayed as the vehicle stomped like a raging bull.

"Buckle up, jackass. We're getting out of here - _both_ of us."

In an explosion of sand and debris, the Humvee soared off. Only about a thousand miles to the border, with Bruce coming to intercept. They just had to be there for it.

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

They drove. Jason vaguely remembered which direction was north. Lucky for him, it was a clear sky and the North Star was as visible as ever. If all those old racist explorers could use that star to navigate across the Atlantic hundreds of years ago, then Jason Todd sure as hell could use it now.

He wasn't sure how long they drive for, but he was thankful it was quiet. Well, once he realized Dick had only passed out (and wasn't being super still because he was super dead) and calmed down from _that_ panic attack, he was thankful for the quiet.

He understood where Dick had been coming from with his whole speech. He really did. And Jason liked to think that if he were in his shoes, he would feel the same way; get the team out at all costs, no matter the sacrifice(s) it required. It was an admirable quality, for sure, and one Jason recognized as prime leadership material. It’s why captains always went down with the ship and all that. And it spoke to Dick's character and how much he cared about them and all of that touchy feely stuff.

Jason knew it. He even respected it.

Doesn't mean it didn't piss him off.

He glanced at his injured hand gripping the wheel, the one that ninja creep had sliced. He had had to wrap it in Dick's discarded shirt to stop the bleeding. Which meant that he lost the filter between his nose and the sand, but he had to admit - he had done a good job at treating his wound. It didn’t even really hurt (probably because he was starting to get numb because it was so cold.) Still, earned himself a First Aid in The Field badge for that one.

Rolling his shoulder, he tested it. It was still plenty stiff from being dislocated. The constant movement had done it good, though, and he knew from firsthand experience it wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been. Still hurt and would cramp occasionally in protest to nonstop use, of course. But with a nice bath, some hardcore muscle relaxants, and a solid thirteen hours of sleep on his luxury bed back in the Tower, he was sure it would be as good as new in no time.

Thinking about bed had his mind wandering and he quickly started to realize just how tired he was. His skin felt hot from sun exposure - damn, this whole experience would ruin his tan - and sticky with dried sweat and sand.

God, he was really looking forward to that bath. Of course, he would probably have to take a short nap beforehand, just to ensure he didn't fall asleep in the tub and drown. And he hadn't even considered the eighteen-hours it would take to fly _back_ to San Francisco. Or maybe it would be longer? He honestly had no clue how time zones worked. Hopefully, though, Bruce would choose a different crew this time - maybe some that weren’t terrorists intent on killing them.

A bush materialized in the headlights and Jason swerved too late to avoid it. The Humvee jolted violently as they ran it over, sharp branches getting entangled in the tires.

"Goddamnit, come on!" He revved the engine, pumped the gas, and eventually the vehicle broke free.

Back to smooth sailing.

Then a rocket exploded next to them and it all went to shit. The Humvee crashed into the pit made by the explosion, front slamming full speed into the sand. Cursing, Jason fumbled with his belt. He heard another rocket whizz through the air and explode a few yards away. How did these people keep finding them?

"Dick, wake up!" They needed to get out of the vehicle and now. They were sitting ducks stuck in this hole.

Dick frowned, pain no doubt being the first sensation resurfacing as he woke up. Jason almost felt bad for bringing him back to such a dismal reality.

Another nearby explosion had sand and gravel raining down on them.

Okay, screw it. He wasn't sorry anymore. "Dick, if you don't get your ass in gear right now, I swear to god--"

The frown changed to one of confusion as Dick's eyes fluttered open. "The hell...?" he muttered, arms moving to... something. He wasn't quite sure what. Just like he wasn't sure what was going on right now. Man, had he been having the weirdest dream--

"Dick! Snap out of it!" Jason was thrown across his lap, struggling with his seatbelt. "We gotta go and I mean _now_!"

The older Robin nodded. He understood what he was being told to him - more or less - and could comprehend the urgency in Jason's voice. Still, it got lost on the way to his limbs, making him slow and sluggish. This was the worst hangover ever and he couldn't even remember the last time he had been this drunk.

Suddenly he was being yanked out of his chair and his body tensed reflexively because yup there it was. The pain. He huffed irritably, only managing a weak gasp as his entire left side shrieked at him.

"Sorry, man, but we did I mention we’re being bombed?" Jason was panting breathlessly. He dropped Dick into the sand, scrambling for the case - lizard brain demanded he grab the damn can as well, so he did. Not that he could explain why. Once they got out of this, he would never drink another Fanta for as long as he lived, that was a promise.

Another explosion, more sand covering them. The case landed with a dull thud and Jason had to take a second to wipe off his face, rubbing sand from his eyes. Which, genius, ended up rubbing the sand deeper into his eyes, but whatever. He didn't have time for smart alecs right now they were literally being bombed.

Huffing and sputtering, he scrambled over to Dick, the older Robin half-buried in the sand. Jason scraped the stuff off best he could and noticed Dick frowning at him in confusion.

"Jason?"

"The one and only. Now shut up and let me save your life."

"You're not supposed to be here." _Flashes of red. Screaming. A sword. Jason was falling._ "When'd you get back?"

"Never left, brosky." He leaned up and checked their surroundings. Light traveled as far as it damn well pleased in this place without weakening so he had no idea how far away the soldiers were. Only that they were coming closer.

"No..." Dick looked around, searching for an answer. Or maybe the question. "Where's Deathstroke?"

Jason froze, the world slowing to an agonizing crawl as he stared at Dick. "The _fuck_ did you just say?"

Dick didn't respond. He didn't even seem to notice, eyes glancing around but not seeing. He struggled to his elbows and Jason went to catch him because _his side, hello?_ But Dick didn't notice that, either.

"Deathstroke. I... He's here. Jason, we have to get to Jason..."

"What?" The teen grabbed his shoulders. "What about me? What does Deathstroke have to do with me?"

"I... we have to go. We have to find him."

"Find who?!"

"He's going to... oh god, he's going to drop him."

Jason's blood, having been boiling all day in the heat, ran cold. "Drop..? Drop who? Dick, who's he going to drop?"

Dick blinked and was looking right at him. "You."

Jason released him, scrambling backward as if he would catch fire. What the actual and ever-loving _fuck?_ Deathstroke had him? And was going to drop him? He knew it was just a nightmare - a fever dream that Dick's boiling mind was cooking up, probably triggered by dark fears and recent trauma and all that and it didn't mean shit but _god_ why couldn't he stop shaking?

How tragic it is to see a young Robin fall.

The bombing had stopped as the soldiers closed in. Suddenly, Jason couldn't bring himself to care. He was finished. This fight was over. Dick, the bastard, had left him, even after all his speeches and promises to never do exactly that. Maybe he hadn't in body, not yet, but his mind was a thousand miles away, so far lost inside his own head Jason wondered if he'd ever see the light of day again.

The soldiers surrounded them, shouting. Their guns were aimed straight and true, laser sights confirming their targets.

Jason stared at Dick, who had gone still against the sand. Face fallen to the side, he stared with half-lidded eyes at a view only he could see. Jason hoped it was a good one.

The soldiers yanked him to his feet and fastened his wrists tightly behind his back. They hauled him out of the pit, still shouting orders. Jason didn't resist, watching idly as they passed Dick up the slope one man at a time, being none too careful with his injuries.

As they shoved Jason forward, he caught a stainless-steel glint in the corner of his vision. A protective spark surged in his chest as they handled the case, dragging it out of the sand. But it, too, was quickly extinguished. They didn't need the case anymore. What was the point of hanging on to it if both of them weren't coming back?

He sent a small prayer heavenward, to wherever Bruce was looking for them.

Sorry to disappoint, old man. Guess he'd have to find someone else to live for.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the torture begins as Dick is interrogated, Bruce is hot on their trail, and Rachel and Gar decide to help out the only way they can.

**SOUTHERN BIALYA  
96 MILES FROM THE BORDER**

_"Master Wayne..."_ Alfred began and Bruce knew instantly from the old man's tone that something was wrong. He gripped the steering column and pushed the chopper forward even faster.

"Go ahead, Alfred," he instructed shortly.

_"Additional reports are coming in from a Kuratan search team. They have located Master Dick and Jason's appropriated Humvee and somehow disabled it. They are also claiming to have apprehended both young Masters."_

Shit.

"How did they take down the Humvee?"

_"It is unclear, but there were requests made for additional heavy artillery. The exact code for the weaponry does not translate, I’m sorry to say.”_

Bruce didn’t need it to. "Have Barbara use the Turkish satellites to look for areas of conflict within 50 miles of their last known whereabouts. Particularly, areas with a surplus of heat signatures."

_"Looking for the soldiers?"_

"No." Desperation was a hell of a drug, and Bruce knew one cheap and efficient way to take down a military vehicle. "Explosions."

_"Very insightful, sir. I will pass the instructions to Miss Gordon right away."_

There was a long pause as Alfred relayed the message. From somewhere deep in his soul, Bruce managed a modicum more of patience, already well past his limit. And who would blame him? His boys were on the line, his everyone and everything he lived for hanging in the balance. But Bruce was a man of strategy and impatience was the enemy of diligence. He had instilled that into Dick, had been trying to do the same to Jason, and followed it religiously in his own life.

_"Miss Gordon has located an area matching your search parameters. Twelve human heat signatures, two of which appear to be Masters Dick and Jason, as well as areas of heat indicating short-range explosives. 3.7 clicks south, 0.9 clicks east of your current position. I am sending the exact coordinates to your phone."_

"Thanks, you two." He checked his phone, his satellite uplink giving him coverage even in the dead zone of a desert. The coordinates came from a randomly generated number by the Cave and he memorized them quickly. They added automatically to his navigation and he course corrected.

_"I also had Miss Gordon initiate a sweep of nearby mobile military bases, and we are monitoring their activity."_

He loved how his team’s minds worked. "Excellent. Keep me updated."

_"Of course, sir. And godspeed.”_

Bruce ended the transmission. He appreciated Alfred's sentiments, but the truth of the matter had not changed: Not even god could save the men who harmed his sons.

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

**NORTHERN KURAT  
UNKNOWN DISTANCE FROM THE BORDER**

Jason was shoved into a large square tent, a hairy man wearing a uniform and thick sunglasses waiting for him behind a large table. The nameplate read YAZIM and its surface was covered with maps and charts, littered with small figures like the ones Jason had seen in all the old war movies.

The soldiers behind him tried to push him to his knees. Jason struggled just enough to establish his stubbornness but went down before they were forced to kick his legs in, avoiding injury.

Yazim was facing him, reclined with his legs crossed in a chair. Thanks to his beard and large sunglasses, though, Jason found him infuriatingly difficult to read. His hands were steepled in front of him, fingers and wrists decorated in a gaudy amount of gold jewelry.

"The hell are you supposed to be?" the teen spat just to break the silence.

Slowly, methodically, Yazim raised one finger to his lips, shushing him. Jason could imagine him laughing maniacally as he ripped his jewelry off the corpses of his victims.

The teen frowned at the gesture. "Hey, if I'm interrupting your nap I can always come back later. I'll just go my way and you can go fuck yourself."

A smile pulled at Yazim's lips, a grin splitting his face apart in slow motion. Jason made a face at the glinting golden teeth hiding behind his curved lips. Somehow, they made an already vile man even grosser. Yazim uncurled his hand and held it out to the side. Its leisure pace made its intention difficult to decipher, but Jason eventually realized the man was gesturing to his right.

Suddenly a second pair of tent flaps opened and two more soldiers stomped in, dragging Dick limply between them.

"Dick!" Jason surged forward protectively, the hands on him keeping him firmly in place.

Dick collapsed heavily to his knees, head hung low. Unlike the men holding Jason to keep him still, Dick's clutched his shoulders to keep him upright. But despite their efforts, the older Robin swayed unsteadily, head rolling in some unheard rhythm.

Jason watched him, taking in his pale demeanor and wheezing breaths. He didn't feel much better himself - stiff, tired, and achy in places he didn't recognize - but at least he was still cognizant. And truth be told, looking at Dick Grayson the OG Robin like this terrified Jason like he hadn’t been terrified in years. His stomach dropped into a cold, dark pit of despair and he realized they might not be getting out of this alive.

Yazim's chair screeched along the floor and Jason’s attention whipped back to him. The man was standing and Jason realized why he worked so hard at being intimidating: he was short as hell. Plenty muscular beneath his fitted military camo, but probably only Jason's height if not slightly taller. It would have been hilarious - a flurry of short jokes already flooding the teen’s mind - if he wasn’t so pathetic. Of all the ways Jason thought he would kick it, in the tent of a tiny ass military man was not on the shortlist.

Haha. The jokes started already.

In a few purposeful strides, Yazim was rounding the table. He stopped and looked at them. Jason swore, the first thing he was doing once he was loose was going after those goddamn shades because not being able to track this guy's eyes was filling him with holy rage.

Yazim raised a hand to his buttoned-up collar and pinched.

The soldiers holding the Robins snapped to action immediately, tearing at their jackets and shirts. "Hey, the fuck, man!" Jason shouted, struggling as icy cold panic raced through him. "Stop it, back off!" His face was slammed into the ground as they fumbled with his arms, ripping his shirt from his back. He was pulled back to his knees, shaking and feeling horrendously exposed.

A quick glance to the side confirmed they had stripped Dick as well and god, he looked even worse than he already had. His chest and back were littered with colorful spots and streaks of sand-burn. Even his arms had deep bruises and who manages to bruise their own arms?

A soft chuckle and Jason looked back to Yazim to see him eyeing Dick. Jason didn’t need to see his eyes to recognize the hunger churning within him. Be it sadistic or more of a carnal nature, Jason didn’t know. He also didn’t care because like hell this predator was getting anywhere near his friend.

“Hey, asshole!”

The man’s head swiveled slightly.

“Yeah, that’s right. I’m talking to you, you prick!” He nodded to the table. “Are you planning on finishing your game of Chutes and Ladders over there or was it too complicated for you? You know, if you really need help, I can always walk you through it.” He shifted in place, licking his lips. “Come on, big guy. I’ll take it slow. I know it can take you a little to catch on, what with your…” His eyes flickered down pointedly. “…Disability and all.”

Yazim straightened and stalked forward. Jason glowered at him angrily, daring him to fight back.

Dick coughed beside them, moaning weakly. Yazim stepped his way, his annoyance with Jason forgotten.

“Hey! Hey, you get back here I’m not done with you yet!”

Yazim planted himself in front of Dick. He looked back at Jason and waved deliberately, asking what he was going to do about it.

“You wanna go, dirtbag?” He jerked at the men at his shoulders. “Why don’t you uncuff me and I’ll show you a time like you ain’t never seen before!” Slowly, Yazim started to turn to him. Jason nodded, watching excitedly. “Yeah. Yeah, come and get some.”

The man's boot swiftly connected with Dick's exposed stomach.

Jason was at his feet in an instant, the soldiers scrambling to secure him. "Don’t you touch him!" he snarled, spitting a variety of curses. Head still turned to Jason, the man reached down and grabbed a generous handful of Dick’s hair. He lifted, revealing Dick’s face to the room.

Jason howled in rage, flailing wildly. “I said don’t touch him! Get your hands off of him, you creep!”

The man, deliberate and purposeful as ever, brought his free hand to his face, slowly licking the tip of his thumb. Jason frowned at him, jerking tensely. Wherever this was going, he didn’t like it. Once the digit was wet with his own spit, Yazim lowered his hand, gently wiping off a smear of dust from Dick’s cheek. The older Robin frowned and tried to pull away, his movements sluggish as he blinked tiredly.

“You sick bastard,” Jason seethed. "You lay one more finger on him and I swear to god I will shove my boot so far up your ass you'll be shitting gold teeth for weeks!”

Yazim dropped his free hand, straightening. He continued to hold Dick’s head perfectly still and upright, the other man’s eyes lazing about the room.

Jason stared hard at their captor, mind whirling as he tried to decide precisely and in exact detail what kind of abuses he was willing to take for the sake of Dick Dumbass Grayson. It’s not like the older Robin could make a decision in this state; he could probably barely understand English much less consent to torture. The teen felt himself start to panic at the thought, but he centered himself around one truth: Dick was willing to die for him back on that hill, in the ambush, on the plane. The least Jason could do was live for him back.

Mind set, the teen straightened his back, squared his shoulders, and jutted his chin out defensively. “Bring it on, asshole,” he grinned, giving Yazim his best _come at me bro_ glare.

The man regarded him for a minute. Then punched Dick hard in the stomach.

“ _NO!_ ” Jason shrieked. The soldiers on him were prepared this time to hold him back, but let it not be said the teen didn’t go down without one hell of a fight. Kicking and lunging, he spat curses and called names, thrashing in hot rage at Yazim, their situation, hell, this whole damn desert.

Yazim flicked his wrist and suddenly Jason was being dragged backward. The last thing he saw before the flaps closed was the man smirking down at Dick, golden teeth glinting in the lamplight.

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

**NORTHERN KURAT  
GENERAL YAZIM’S OFFICE**

Yazim looked to the remaining guards positioned on either side of Dick and tapped his wrists together. One of the soldiers broke away, marching to the side of the tent. He retrieved a sturdy wooden post attached to a heavy metal base. It was only tall enough to reach his waist and had a series of metal cuffs and rings attached to the top. He placed it in the center of the room and moved to assist the second soldier as they dragged Dick to it. He was positioned on his knees, wrists attached to the top of the pole, back hunched as he leaned heavily onto his arms.

He groaned mournfully at the movement, arms twitching in pathetic attempts to pull against his restraints.

Satisfied, Yazim waved to the soldiers, who saluted before taking their leave. Now alone, the man stalked a slow circle around his captive, like a lion eyeing her prey before snapping its neck. The white man was exquisitely built; tall and lean, sculpted beautifully with slender muscles and long, elegant limbs. His face, always carrying a dutiful frown, was narrow and pointed. Even his hair was voluptuous, thick and dark, curled to frame his face and large eyes.

He was a specimen to be sure. And Yazim hadn’t even tested his mind yet (though if the reports he had received about these two were anything to go by, he was it would be a fun evening.)

Yazim stopped and titled his head, inspecting the rainbow-colored bruise on the left side of Dick’s back. Just under the ribs and about the size of a flattened hand. An injury to his kidney and a rather severe one at that. He pinched at the lap of his pants and squatted. It was remarkable the man was still alive, much less conscious.

Still, as admirable as his current state was, it would do Yazim no good. He twisted at the ring on his pointer finger. It slipped off easily and he stored the decoration in his breast pocket. Finger still extended, he bent it at the first knuckle. Then he grinded it into the center of Dick's bruise.

The older Robin snapped back to reality instantly, a painful shriek tearing through his throat. Once he ran out of breath, his captor dug again in a slightly different spot, earning him an entirely new wail of pain from the white man. After the third round, he was convinced Dick was sufficiently awake and drew back.

Dick all but collapsed forward, gasping and whimpering. He shook all over, trembling with each shaky breath. Quietly, he started muttering what sounded like unintelligible nonsense, throat shredded.

Yazim moved so he was facing Dick, squatting to his eye level. He was giving his captive the opportunity to size up his enemy before the real pain began. And Dick took it, operating perhaps solely on instinct alone, and dragged his eyes up to stare Yazim in the face. He blinked slowly, and the general waited patiently for the pupils to focus.

"Gen'ral," Dick greeted breathlessly after a long moment. His eyes slipped closed and he collapsed against his arm again, searching desperately for support.

Yazim smirked, impressed. Even in this deteriorated state, this man - whoever he was - could recognize and correctly identify a foreign military form. He spread his hands apart in a casual gesture. "You have me at the disadvantage. I know not your rank."

Dick turned away, coughing wetly into his arm. "Don't h've one."

"Surely you must have some sort of military affiliation."

He swallowed and shook his head minutely. "Nope. Nothing. Jus' me."

“No political ties?”

“D’pends on who’s running, if I’m b’ing ‘onest.”

“No country even?”

“Of birth?” An uneven shrug. “Not really.”

Yazim scoffed lightly, chewing his lip in thought. This creature really was something. He couldn’t tell as of yet if he had undergone anti-interrogation training or if he was just being difficult. And honestly, he couldn’t decide which he preferred more.

He schooled his expression, wringing his jeweled hands. "And the boy?"

“Asshole.” Dick shakily glanced up to the general’s put off expression. He chuckled airily. “Not you. Him. ‘e’s the asshole.”

“How come?”

Another shrug. Dick’s arms were beginning to shake from holding him up. “Jus’ that age, I guess. ‘appens to the best ‘f us, eventually.”

Yazim pressed further. "Your son?"

Swallowing, Dick looked forward. “’ey, wait a minute. Where’d ‘e go?”

“Hmm?”

“The asshole. He…” He straightened and made a show of searching the room (the case was near the table.) “’e was jus’ here. Did ‘e leave already?”

Yazim motioned to the tent door. “He was escorted out moments ago.” Slowly, he reached a hand up, laying it delicately between Dick’s shoulder blades. The older Robin flinched against the contact and it made Yazim drool, feeling the sinewy muscles flex and bend under such taught skin.

Dick lowered his head, slipping it between his arms. “’e’s gone.” He let some heartbreak leak into his voice. “’e left me.”

Yazim cooed at him. “He will be cared for.”

“I’m alone.”

The rough hand slipped further down the gentle slope of his back. “ _We_ are alone, yes.”

“…Promise?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Suddenly Dick was headbutting him in the forehead, their noggins colliding hard. Yazim startled and fell back, taken by surprise. Dick whipped forward and tugged at the metal loops securing him to the post. No good. He yanked himself into a squat and looked around as Yazim started to recover.

“You insolent--!”

Dick swung a leg around and kicked him in the face. “Shut up.” Straightening because whoa his legs were very much still not cooperating, he gave the room a quick survey, quickly finding the case. It was exactly where he had spotted it, his braindead act freeing him of all suspicion as he took stock of the general’s office.

Yazim stirred and moaned and Dick’s time was limited. He could already hear scuffling outside, no doubt soldiers concerned after hearing their general shout.

“Damnit!” he cursed, glancing back to his bindings. His handcuffs were secured to the pole by a metal loop and there was shit all he could do to jimmy the lock. He was still stuck here, he didn’t know where here was, he didn’t know where Jason was, he couldn’t get to the case, and he couldn’t get to any weapons with his hands bound like this.

Yazim was rolling over, yelling obscenities at him. So Dick did the one thing he could think of: he spat in his face. The general roared with anger, springing to his feet. “Do you know who I am?!”

After so long, Dick Grayson’s all-knowing smirk made its triumphant return to grace his face. “You’re General Aliaz Habmad Yazim. Son of Colonel Mazar Yazim. Butcher, professional interrogator, mass murderer--” He nodded to the man’s lower region, “And creep apparently. Nice teeth, by the way. Very gold.”

The punch he received to his jaw was totally worth it. Spouting curses at him, Yazim demanded to know just who the hell he was. Some sort of spy? A Bialyan extremist?

Dick spat out another clump of blood. He found breathing difficult and his legs were about to give out under him. Which presented another problem: how was he supposed to get Jason out of here if he couldn’t run, couldn’t even stand?

Rolling his eyes at the man’s pointless questions, he turned to him, schooling his bruised and sweaty face into forced casualness. "Here's what's going to happen, General," he informed.

The thing about General Yazim was, he liked a challenge. Massacres and bloodshed were nice and all, but nothing really got him turned on like a puzzle waiting to be broken. He huffed in rage, waiting with a predatory smirk for Dick to bury himself deeper. He always liked speeches and threats. Made it so much more satisfying when they didn't come true.

Dick continued: "You are going to let that boy and me go, or all of your soldiers, including yourself, are going to die."

And while it was true that General Aliaz Habmad Yazim had been breaking people down since before Dick was born, the older Robin still had one major advantage: he was from _Gotham_ , and all the filth and scandals and corruption that came with it. Yazim leveled villages; Dick took down people he recognized from the streets and school and the clubs, people he knew by name. He looked them in the eye, made the hard call, and stopped them before they could hurt themselves or anyone else any more. Yazim pointed a rocket launcher and pulled the trigger.

Yazim laughed lightly. "This confidence. Where does it come from?"

"Call it a feeling, asshole.”

"Feelings do not win wars," Yazim grunted.

"No, but they sure as hell can end them."

The general’s arm shot out, fingers suddenly around Dick’s throat. He held it tightly, not actually squeezing, but gripping like he would hold a stray dog. "And you, you have seen wars?" he sneered, unimpressed.

 _Seen_ them? Gotham had shaped Dick Grayson. It had sharpened him and exposed him to the harshest realities of the world. It was a gross, oozing boil, a cancerous blemish on the face of the country. It was his proving grounds, his own personal trial by fire every night of the week. And it was his home.

Dick chuckled at him darkly, all glares and sharp teeth. "I was _born_ into them."

Emotions twitching across his face, Yazim shouted suddenly, fist flying forward in rage.

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

**TITANS TOWER  
SAN FRANCISCO**

Rachel screamed, getting thrown across the room. The candles surrounding her blew over, their flames evaporating. Pages from her books scattered as loud coughs caught in her throat, choking her. She gasped, gagging as she tried to reclaim her breath.

A knock sounded on her door and Gar came rushing in, hair frazzled and eyes alit with worry.

Rachel dove for her candles. "Get out!" she screamed.

"Rache, what-- what're you doing?" The boy looked around the room in confusion. Her deck lamp was blown out, the notebooks and pencils along the tabletop trembling as if they had just been through a demonic whirlwind. Papers floated down all around her, and she was sitting in the middle of a red circle made of paint on the carpet.

"Nothing!" the girl sobbed, scooping the candles to her protectively. "I don't want you here, Gar! Get out!"

"Rachel, I'm not leaving until you tell me what's going on!" The boy slipped in, clicking the door shut behind him. He frowned, slowing lowering himself to the floor in front of her. "You trying to summon Satan or something? Or worse, dear old dad?"

She gulped down another panicky sob, her flailing slowing to an eventual stop. She wiped at her nose with her sleeve.

"Jesus! You're bleeding!" Gar scurried off to get a rag. Rachel frowned at her wrist in confusion, weakly shrinking in on herself. "Is... is this about Dick?" he asked carefully, offering her a small towel. "Are you, what, trying to find them?"

She tapped at her nose gingerly, face screwing with emotion as it sloshed around inside of her. "No..." she choked. "No, not find."

"Then, what? Communicate?"

Shouting suddenly, she launched the towel across the room. Her eyes lit up red. "I had it!" she roared. "I had it! And then you interrupted!"

"Rachel, calm down!" Gar pleaded. He shuffled forward, grabbing her hand gently. She immediately calmed with the contact, the wind dying down almost instantly. "Look, I'm sorry," he apologized, squeezing tight. "I didn't mean to interrupt. I just, I heard you scream and got worried. Wanted to make sure you were okay."

The power drained from her and the girl sagged. She squeezed back weakly. "I am. I'm sorry. I've… I've just been trying all night to find them." (It was actually morning by now, but Gar decided not to press.) "To connect somehow, maybe see what's going on."

Curiously, the boy inspected the shredded books and toppled over candles. "And-- and did you do it? You said something about having it?"

She nodded, pulling in a shaky breath. "For a moment I could feel Dick again. I could almost get in but, Gar, he was so closed off."

"Well, I'm sure he wasn't exactly expecting you to come knocking," he tried with a humored smirk. “Too busying about the desert and all.”

"No. No, it wasn't like that. He wasn't letting anybody in. It was like he couldn't. Like he was… too scared to." She rubbed her arms, a chill passing through her. "I could feel that much, at least, before losing him. That, and..."

Gar made a face. "And? And what?"

Clear eyes turned to him, shiny with thick tears. "There was pain. So much pain. He... Gar, it felt like he was _dying._ "

"Hey, it's okay," the boy soothed, quickly pulling her in for a hug.

"He needs our help!" she sighed sadly. "He needs us there, with him!”

"I know. But, Rache, we... we're here. And they’re on the other side of the world."

"I know that!" She pulled back, wiping her face clean. "That's why I was doing all of this. To help. But..." Sighing, she flicked at a book dejectedly. "It wasn't enough. I'm not strong enough."

Gar wanted to help. He would have given her all of his strength if she could have used it to find Dick and Jason. He was no supernatural guru, though, so he wasn't even sure how he would go about doing that. Instead, he offered her what he could. His willingness. "I'll help,” he volunteered casually.

She looked at him and appreciated the gesture, but clearly wasn't convinced it was worth trying again. "Thanks. I'm just not sure what I did wrong."

"Well then, talk me through it. Sometimes that's the best way to find a mistake. And I can, uh, go get more candles too if that's what you need. Or a Gatorade or something. Oh!" His eyes lit up and he snapped. "Goat's blood! Do you need goat’s blood? Because I can totally get you some goat’s blood!"

She snorted at him, humored. "I'm not a witch!"

He eyed her whole set up - the candles, the books, the red paint all over the carpet - pointedly. "Current circumstances would strongly suggest otherwise."

"Oh, shut up!" she swatted at him playfully. He ducked.

"So, are we doing this?"

A shadow covered her eyes and she looked away, uncertain.

"Rachel, it'll be fine, okay? And if you start freaking out, I'll be right here to bring you back in." He took her hand back and squeezed again. "I promise."

She looked at him critically, searching his eyes for any weariness or reluctance. There was nothing but confidence and determination and it chipped away at her anxieties like a sledgehammer. "Fine," she conceded, raising her hands. "Fine. But if I break something, I'm totally blaming you."

"Totally fair."

Huffing, she gave him one last pout. "Thanks, Gar."

He smiled softly. "Of course."

"Now!" Clapping, she shook herself free from her sour mood and pushed some curls from her face. "You relight the candles, I'll start setting up the books again."

"You got it!" He gathered them into his arms and stood, heading out to find a lighter. "Oh, and Rache?"

"Yeah?"

"You got this. We'll find them."

She smiled. "I hope so."

"We don't need hope. We have you."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the torture begins for Jason and takes an unexpected turn for Dick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jason is a baby bisexual and has some internalized biphobia he’s dealing with.

**NORTHERN BIALYA  
UNKNOWN DISTANCE FROM THE BORDER**

"You fuckers won't get away with this!" Jason was shouting, kicking and flailing against the soldiers dragging him from Yazim's tent. They burst into another one not far away, heaving him inside. "I'm gonna kill you! You hear me?! I'm going to kill each and every one of you!"

Taking him to the center of the room they unchained his wrists long enough for one to receive a lucky shot to the jaw before the second managed to wrangle his arms to the floor, securing his cuffs to a metal loop bolted to the ground.

"Get off of me!" Jason continued shouting. He kicked out, forcing the soldier to scramble away or take a boot to somewhere unpleasant. Jason snarled at them, yanking and pulling experimentally at the metal. There was only so far he could go, wrists stuck behind his back and secured to the ground. The loop only gave him a few inches of slack, which wasn't enough to do nearly as much damage as these dickweeds deserved.

Huffing and hissing angrily, he looked from one soldier to the other, only now realizing they hadn't left yet. "Hey!" he called, jutting his chin out. "The fuck are you two looking at, huh? You sickos just hanging out, having a laugh?" He yanked again. "Yeah I bet you really like this, don't you? This your favorite place in the whole camp? Got some nice mood lighting, it's all alone, a great place to chain each other up and--"

One moved forward and socked him across the jaw. The other hung back, snickering.

Jason seethed, flicking his glare to the one who had just hit him. _Knuckles_ , he decided, giving the man a nickname. It was too dark in the small tent to properly read his uniform's name tag, and Jason also didn't give two shits what their names actually were. So, Knuckles and, just because he wasn't feeling particularly creative, Hiss was the one laughing at him.

Jason narrowed his eyes. "Oh, you like that? You like it rough?" He lunged forward again, pulling against the cuffs. "Well come on, then! Come and get some! Because I swear I’m a tough as they fucking come!" All this yanking and straining was doing a serious number on his shoulders, his right one still sore. It was worth it, though, for that millisecond of panic when the soldiers flinched and wondered if the metal loop was going to hold against the feral boy.

Knuckles took full advantage of his strained position, grabbing his hair and kneeing him several times in the gut. Satisfied, he threw Jason to the ground and stalked to the door. The teen stumbled, coughing, but managed to not face plant, thank you very much.

"Guess I misnamed you," he chuckled between wheezes. "Should've called you Miss Daisy because you hit like my grandmother.”

Hiss patted Knuckles on the arm, sharing humored words with him. Jason half-wished he could understand what they were saying; it would have been nice to know what was happening to Dick or where they were. On the other hand, though, he was sure whatever they were snickering would have only pissed him off even more. And he, the rage boy that he was, guessed that being even angrier probably wasn't good for his blood pressure. Or immediate health since he also got loud when he got angry. And scared.

Shifting in place, he spread his legs out, back hunched slightly to avoid putting too much pull on his arms. The two soldiers were looking at him and even though he couldn't understand what they were saying, laying down bets was a universal language. Rage flared within him.

"You assholes really over there making bets about me behind my back? I got to tell you, that's pretty fucking rude." He smirked. "Especially since, once I break out of these chains, I'm going to kick _your_ ass, and then I'm going to kick _your_ ass, and then I'm going to kick the asses of each and every one of you scum lords in this entire goddamn desert. And then - and _then!_ \- I am going to come back to this very spot and I am going to do it all over again." They were watching him, intrigued. He waggled an eyebrow. _Fight m_ e was pretty universal too.

Knuckles laughed at him and stalked forward, accepting the challenge.

Two fighters.

Jason licked his lips in anticipation. "Oh, yeah! Ladies and gents, we have a taker!" The man struck a pose, his fists raised before him. Jason gave him a taunting look. "What're you gonna do, Jackie Chan? Smolder me to death?"

The man charged and Jason ducked the punch, dropping flat to his back. The soldier looked down at him in almost comical shock. Jason grinned darkly. Suddenly, his leg was shooting out, landing a solid blow to the man’s throat. The man dropped and Jason caught his neck between his thighs.

Oh, how he loved when people underestimated him. Grunting, he squeezed, lifting his whole body into the air and he focused all his strength to his legs. "Come on! Come on!" he growled, shaking the man as if that would knock him out faster. He heard Hiss shout something and looked up.

"Oh shit!"

He dropped to the floor suddenly, both him and Knuckles landing hard on their backs. Untangling his legs, he brought his right up to kick at Hiss's stomach. The man stumbled, buzzing cattle prod (wait what?) forgotten as he tipped forward. Jason cradled him upright with his right foot, groaning as he held the man in the air. He then kicked at the prod with his left, steering it directly into Knuckles. The man convulsed, electricity coursing through him, before going still.

One left.

Jason whipped his attention back to Hiss, who was yelling angrily at him. The man snatched the prod back, stabbing it into the side of Jason's knee. The teen yelled, his leg quickly giving out. He rolled with it to avoid damaging his hip, Hiss ending up on the ground next to him. Quickly, Jason drew his leg back but Hiss jabbed the prod into his retreating heel, giving him another harsh zap.

"Damnit!" the teen whined, swinging his other leg around. It connected with Hiss's back and pushed him forward off balance. The man recovered quickly, though, wrapping his arm around the appendage. He slammed his elbow into Jason's knee, the young Robin bending it just in time to save himself a dislocated kneecap.

He shoved forward, shaking the man repeatedly until his grip faltered. Quickly, Jason grabbed his leg back. He swiveled onto his back, hands crunching under him - and ow, he was heavy. He pulled back both legs, boots aimed directly at Hiss.

"Yippee-ki-yay," the teen smirked.

Hiss went soaring across the room, landing in an uncoordinated heap by the door. Jason watched him for a second, taking a moment to catch his breath as he confirmed his kill. When the man didn't stir, the teen collapsed, panting loudly.

None left.

Grunting, Jason rolled to his side (giving Knuckles one last small kick just for annoying him) and dragged himself to a sitting position. That took a lot more out of him than he had expected. He paused for another moment, waiting impatiently for the room to stop spinning. In the meantime, he flexed his fingers, making sure he hadn't actually damaged any of them. They were cold and numb because it was freezing in here and he was still shirtless, but seemed to still be intact. Thank those young bones of his.

He sat there, trying to ignore the throbbing ache in his zapped leg as he struggled to catch his breath. The soldiers would only be out for so long; he had to take full advantage of these precious moments while he could.

There were voices outside and Jason bolted into action. Okay, break over, then.

Spotting Hiss’ discarded cattle prod, he snatched it with his foot, kicking it within reach. Then he scooted backward, slipping between his arms so his hands were now in front of him. Being stuck this low to the ground still wasn't ideal, but at least he had regained a lot of maneuverability.

The voices stopped outside and Jason glanced around the room, looking for anything else he could use. Maybe some keys.

"Shit!" Rounding the metal loop, he got as close as he could to Knuckles, inspecting him. Luckily, the soldier had fallen close enough that Jason could reach his chest with his boot. Unfortunately, this meant he would either have to hope the key was in his breast pocket or get creative with an unconscious hostage.

The young Robin bit his lip, searching for something, anything, he could use. He was willing to take his boot off entirely and use his toes, but that seemed a bit desperate. He eyed the cattle prod. There were options with that as well, but they were limited.

The voices outside started slapping the tent, apparently asking how things were going in there. Jason cursed under his breath. If he couldn't get the keys, he'd have to find some other way out of these restraints. Dislocating his thumbs wasn't an option, unfortunately, as the cuffs were too tight.

"Think, Todd. Think. You're a Robin." The voices were getting louder, suspecting something was up. "Come on. What would Dick do?" He eyed the prod. Eyed his chains. The prod. His chains. "He'd find another way to break these cuffs."

 _Ding_.

Jason scrambled for the prod, kicking it to his hands. He'd have to get creative with this. The men outside started unzipping the door. He'd also have to hurry.

Yanking at the restraints again, he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to pull his cuffs from the metal loop just by himself. But if he could get some leverage on the loop... He fiddled with the cattle prod, making sure it was powered off, and wedged it through the loop. Luckily, this was a heavy-duty steel prod, making it significantly thicker than the metal of the loop.

The door opened and three men stepped inside. In the moonlight, they immediately noticed the bodies but couldn’t make out the center of the room.

Jason twisted the prod, ignoring them. The loop squeaked at him unhappily and didn't budge. "Come on!" he growled, sparing a glance to the men as their eyes adjusted. "Come on you stupid piece of shit."

One of them clicked on a flashlight and shined it right into his face. Rude. In unison, the trio saw what he was doing and charged forward.

The metal started to give.

"Come on!"

They had almost reached him.

The metal snapped.

"Fuck yeah!" he cheered, looking up.

Three fighters.

In a flurry of motion, he tossed the cattle prod into the air, ducking underneath one punch. He was free from the floor, but his wrists were still bound which, whatever, he had done more with less.

Instinctively, he dropped to the ground just as the second man charged him. Jason stood and caught the man around the middle from underneath. With a yell, he flipped over, letting the soldier fall into the first guy. The third, who had until this point been hanging back to check on Hiss and Knuckles, charged him.

The cattle prod dropped into Jason’s waiting hand. He clicked it on and stabbed it into the man's face.

Two left.

The first two got to their feet, deciding to charge him at once. Jason turned just in time for one man to football tackle him to the ground. He landed with a grunt, quickly bringing up his arms to block. The second soldier grabbed his wrists, wrestling the cattle prod from him. It clattered away, far out of reach.

Damnit, that wasn’t good. The man on top of him punched his side twice. Still holding his wrists, the second soldier pinned him to the ground, arms stretched above his head as his companion wrestled for his legs.

This _really_ wasn't good. The men yelled for some of their comrades and moonlight filled the tent as more soldiers came flooding in.

And this had just gotten so much worse.

"Get off of me!" Jason demanded, wiggling desperately. He managed to get a boot free and break the first man's nose. But there were already two to replace him, each grabbing a leg. "I said get off, damnit!" He saw one pick up the cattle prod and his blood ran cold.

He thrashed wildly as the man approached. “No, no, wait! Don't!"

It was stabbed into his chest and he convulsed, electricity surging through his body. All of his muscles misfired uncontrollably. After a second, the prod was removed and Jason was left panting and sweating on the floor. He blinked sloppily, head in a daze from the charge.

Someone said something and the prod was passed to the next person. Its voltage was upped, crackling at him hungrily.

"N-no. Don't."

White-hot electricity pierced his bare chest and he screamed.

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

**NORTHERN BIALYA  
GENERAL YAZIM’S OFFICE**

Dick slumped to the floor, wrists chafing as he hung against his arms heavily. It tore at his shoulders, this pose, but he didn't have the strength to care or fix it. Legs splayed to one side sloppily, he rested on one hip, his face against one arm. Even inside this large tent, the desert air nipped at his bare skin, licking up his sweat greedily. It did wonders for his fever, but also made him even more miserable.

Yazim was standing over him, readjusting one of his gaudy rings (Dick was sure he would have a bruise shaped exactly like it here soon.) He stomped hard on Dick's lower leg, nearly snapping the muscle surrounding it.

Dick wailed quietly, unable to catch his breath for a proper scream as he tried to pull his legs back protectively. The limbs still hadn't recovered from his passing out before that first ambush, and it scared him more than a little.

"You are a skilled man." The general shoved at his legs with a boot, making Dick shudder involuntarily. "Someone trained you to be like this."

"Like… like wh’t?"

The general leaned forward. "A nuisance."

Dick cracked a smirk at him, lips split and teeth bloody. "And you’re an asshole.”

Another fist to his jaw.

He shook it loose, making the world spin like a top. "Yup, that clinches it. Defini'ely a... a big ol' asshole."

Yazim regarded him for a minute, looking him over carefully. As much as he would have liked to sit and watch this creature's back pump and expand as he struggled to catch his breath, this was taking too long. Besides, this position allowed him to hide his face too easily and Yazim simply couldn't have that.

Standing, he grabbed a long metal key from his pocket, unhooking Dick’s wrists from the post. The older Robin blinked, watching in confusion. Yazim kicked at Dick's leg, forcing him to turn. Eventually, he was flipped over to sit on his ass, back facing the pole and arms stretched above his head.

The general paused, stepping back in consideration. Dick heaved from the effort of rolling over, staring at the general curiously.

"To your feet," Yazim instructed shortly and Dick, despite his best efforts, felt himself start to panic just a little. It was a simple intimidation tactic, he knew that. Change up the rhythm, catch the other person off guard. A textbook move that Dick had used himself countless times - from suddenly changing his tone to redirecting the line of questioning altogether. He should have been immune to something as standard and predictable as this.

But he wasn't. "Why?" he asked breathlessly, large eyes twitching as he searched for the logic, the motive, any sign of what was to come.

"Do as you are instructed," Yazim continued. "Or it will be done to you."

Dick drew a leg closer, thinking over his possibilities. "I need my hands."

"You will manage."

His lips closed tightly, his vision starting to drift elsewhere. He couldn't shake the feeling that this wouldn't end well. Well, worse than the standard being held captive and tortured, anyway. Clearly, Yazim wanted him to stand to weaken his already useless legs and so he could start bruising his torso as well. But it wasn't above the belt Dick was worried about.

He gulped a few shallow breaths, working his jaw and looking anywhere else than the creep before him. He didn't want to do this. Every instinct in him was screaming, alarm bells banging out a cacophony so loud it was giving him a headache. Even his body protested, refusing to move at all. But he couldn't be selfish.

Bruce was coming. Jason needed him. He had to stall.

Under his long, dark bangs, he leveled Yazim with a knowing glare. If they were going to do this, he would go in having the other man fully and consciously aware that this was his choice. He had, under his own volition, decided to participate despite being fully aware of the general’s intentions.

Yazim motioned for him to make a decision and Dick exhaled one sad chuckle. He could do this. He had to. For Jason. So Jason could get out.

Dropping his arms into his lap heavily, he grunted and rolled to one hip. It took longer than it ever should have, but he somehow managed to get his legs under him with the ease and grace of an acrobat. Sweaty and shaking, he stumbled to his feet. The world tipped unhappily and he was inclined to agree, grasping desperately at the top of the post for support.

Yazim was grinning at him. "With the proper motivation, anyone will slaughter themselves." Strolling forward, he shoved Dick backward with two fingers and snatched his wrists. With the twist of a second key, the cuffs around his wrists separated. He was free. He could punch, fight, kill this bastard and escape.

The general clicked his tongue at him in warning. "The boy. Think of the boy."

Dick's head lowered in shameful agreement, bangs covering his eyes. It wasn’t like he could put up much of a fight in this state anyway. He didn't resist as Yazim pulled at his arms, chaining them behind his back. Great. He was now upright, wrists secured behind him (and he couldn't do anything more than straighten without his shoulders taking the blame) and the only thing he had for support was a wooden post no taller than his own waist.

Yazim stoked Dick’s cheek and the older Robin turned away, eyes hard and unrelenting. This was just great. Excellent. He had really gotten himself into the thick of it this time.

"Like David, you were sculpted by a true master," Yazim was purring, fingertips brushing Dick's neckline.

"How about you back off, alright?" he snapped, glaring at the general and leaning away. "That what you wanted me like this for? Why don’t you just paint a picture?"

The general looped two fingers into the front of Dick's pants and yanked forward. The taller man stumbled, unable to balance against the awkward pose, hands tied behind him and hips thrust awkwardly. Yazim glanced down quickly before looking up. He leaned in close, drinking in the confusion and rage in Dick's large eyes like sweet wine. It paired so nicely with the fear and desperation clinging to his scent. He had a very good idea of what was about to happen, and Yazim admired his cleverness so deeply it nearly made him forget himself.

Slowly, the man rubbed at the sensitive skin between Dick's hips with the back of his finger, impossibly soft as his rough skin scratched at Dick's private hairs. He moved slow and gentle so he could enjoy the hitch in the taller man's breath, the involuntary tightening of muscles as he fought the urge to escape. It was like playing with a pet, testing the limits of how much the creature would take before breaking down or lashing out.

Yazim's free hand reached behind his back, gradually revealing a [black 12" tactical Bowie knife](https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/81L7uZNlqeL._AC_SL1500_.jpg). That caught Dick off guard, who started squirming in place nervously.

"The fuck is that?" he gasped, eyeing the weapon.

"A knife." Yazim raised it to Dick's face, watching in glee as the man tried to twitch away. He could only move so far, though, the knife swaying after him like a mesmerized cobra. Unable to lean any further, Dick forced his eyes closed tightly, every muscle dancing with tension as the blade gently caressed his cheek.

Yazim _tck_ ed at him, finger still stroking Dick's stomach. "You disapprove of my knife."

"Seems to me like you're overcompensating."

Oh, how the general wanted to break this mysterious succubus until there wasn't anything left but a shattered mind trapped inside a broken corpse. He poked the tip of the blade into Dick's abs, forcing the taller man to gasp and shudder in surprise as it penetrated his skin. It was barely deep enough to draw blood, but it communicated quite effectively that Yazim was not above skinning him alive. And taking his sweet ass time doing so.

Dick's left leg suddenly gave out and his eyes rolled back as he collapsed to the ground. His arms twisted unnaturally behind him, catching his weight. He moaned sharply, a shoulder dangerously close to giving way. Yazim withdrew his knife and stepped back, wanting to avoid accidental injuries.

"Up!" he commanded.

Dick cried and shook his head emphatically. He was _this_ close to hyperventilating. "I... I can't..."

Yazim grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled. "Up!"

Dick's eyes fluttered. "I can't... can't breathe..." His head snapped to the side as the general backhanded him.

"There will be no more of your games!"

Gaping like a grounded fish, Dick shook his head, messy hair flopping everywhere. He wished this was one of his games. He wished he was strong enough to take the abuse, to stand his ground against the torment. He wished he could have managed just a little longer. But he knew now that that was impossible. This was a panic attack, and a violent one at that, and despite his and Donna's best efforts, there didn't seem to be a way of magically snapping him out of it when this had happened before.

Yazim kicked him against the post, and Dick screamed because there went his shoulder.

"Enough!" the general was commanding but Dick barely heard him. He tried to summon mental images of home to calm down, remembering Donna _(a spark of blue, dead)_ , Kori _(flames, screaming, fire)_ , Rachel _(black eyes, darkness, Trigon)_ , Jason _(falling, falling, gone)_ , even Bruce _(rubble, choking, dead)_ , but nothing helped.

Suddenly his arms were free from the post and he fell forward to the ground. Hands - cold and numb from the lack of oxygen - still locked behind him. He rolled onto his knees, forehead pressed to the tent floor as he tried to pull in a full breath. Images, death, decay, _his fault_ flipped through his brain but were gone before he could see them. Everything was stopping. It was getting dark. He was going to pass out.

Gunfire outside. People shouting. A chopper.

Yazim was standing over him, knife raised. Then the general gasped suddenly as if being choked. The knife clattered to the ground as he stumbled backward, pulling at his uniform in confusion. He checked his side, bloody and scratched, and looked up to see someone behind him. The person bolted forward, snatched the keys from Yazim’s grip, and stabbed. The long metal broke through the thick lens of his sunglasses, burying itself deep into his eye. He screamed. The person kicked at his chest and the general toppled over near Dick.

The intruder straddled Yazim, gave his gut a few solid stomps - plus one extra to his groin for good measure - and then cleanly snapped his neck. Dick shuddered, suddenly staring into what was left of a lifeless crystal blue eye. Black spots overtaking his vision, he looked up to see Jason, a cut on his cheek, burns across his chest, and a bewildered look in his eyes.

"Jason?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rachel is most definitely a witch, Bruce finally arrives, and one Robin goes down for good.

**TITANS TOWER  
TWO HOURS EARLIER**

In Rachel's room in the Tower, candles flickered, a bowl of water boiled, and Gar sat crossed legged, trying not to butcher whatever language he was reading as he recited some incantations. Rachel was in the middle of the candles and red paint. Her eyes were closed, head bowed, crystal glowing as power flowed around her, catching her blue curls.

Was it working? Hell if Gar knew, but the room was becoming increasingly more charged and she hadn't told him to stop yet, so he pressed forward, quickly turning the page as he kept reading.

"I... I see him," Rachel gasped out, voice almost lost in the wind and darkness encircling her.

Gar's attention snapped up. "You do? Who? What do you see?"

"Jason." She frowned slightly, muscles strained to keep the connection. "He's..." In a wispy vision that was like watching through bent glass, she saw Jason, topless, dirty and bruised. He was sitting in the middle of a small room of some sort, legs crossed. She could hear him talking, muttering quietly.

"I need to go in deeper," she informed unhelpfully.

Gar frowned at her. "What does that mean?"

"Watch my back." Suddenly, her head was thrown back, eyes wide and red, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. She rocked like a telephone pole in a hurricane as the energy around her picked up speed.

_Rachel blinked and she was in the middle of the desert. It was dark and cold and she shivered, bringing her hands up to rub at her arms._

_Suddenly she heard faint mutterings in the distance and took off running. "Jason!" she gasped, racing through the thick red sand. Cresting the hill, she found a wide valley at the bottom with a round tent in the center. The rest of the world dissolved into gray mist around the edges, leaving this the only place solid. Quietly, Rachel slipped down the hill, following the whispering voice._

_"Jason?" She approached the tent, feeling its cold texture beneath her hand. Quickly unzipping the door, she stepped inside. The area inside stretched on forever, blackness eating up the corners. The moonlight came cascading in over her shoulder, pointing like a spotlight to the center. She could hear Jason perfectly inside here, his voice strained. He'd been screaming._

_Cautiously, she approached, taking in the sight of him. He was crossed legged in the center of the room, hands bound behind his back. His face and legs were covered in streaks of sand, cargo pants littered with scrapes and stains. The white moonlight splashed across his bare chest, making bruises and burns glow against his pale skin._

_Slowly, she knelt before him, hand delicately reaching for his knee. "Jason?"_

_He screamed, scrambling backward in a blind panic. He ended up on his side, curled defensively. From this angle she could see his hands; she tried not to scream at the sight. The fingers of his right hand were mangled and bent, viciously and ruthlessly broken._

"Stay away," _he hissed._ "Don’t come fucking near me!"

_"Jason it's me, Rachel," she tried again, hands outstretched peaceably though he couldn't see her. "Please, Jason, just look."_

_Slowly, the teen uncurled, eyes searching the darkness. They found her, haloed in the moonlight, and they were glowing red_. "Rachel?" _he asked, frowning skeptically._

_She nodded, laughing wetly in relief. "Yes. Yes, Jason, it's me."_

_He pulled himself upright, taking in the sight of her in desperation._ "It worked..." _he breathed, still looking unconvinced, like she might disappear at any second._ "You... you're really here?"

_"I'm inside your head," she corrected, tapping her red crystal once. "I found you and am watching. I'm... I'm still back in the Tower, though. I'm sorry I couldn't be more--"_

"Can you help?"

_She pulled in a breath. "I'll do what I can. Jason, what's going on? What happened? Where's Dick?"_

_Guilt washed over him, forcing the teen to look away._ "Dumbass..." _he muttered._ "I tried, but I couldn't... they have him, with some general guy, right over there. But Rachel, Bru-Batman is coming. He--he's been tracking us. I talked to him. He's on the way."

_"Does he know where you are?"_

"Yes. But I have to get to Dick. I don't know what they're doing to him."

_Rachel held out her hands, calming him down. "Jason, what did they do to you?"_

"Nothing."

_She tilted her head, giving him a look. "I'm in your head, remember? You can't lie to me."_

"I said it's nothing!" _he snarled, a blast of power almost knocking her off her feet._ "Don't worry about me. We have to get to Dick!"

_Shuddering, the girl nodded. "Okay. I'll try to help, but there's only so much I can do."_

"Here. The cuffs." _He twisted slightly, allowing her to look over his shoulder._ "Once I get out of these, I can take care of it."

_Rachel hesitated, checking her side. Already three new scratch marks marred her skin, bleeding slightly. She didn't have much time. "Okay. I'll do what I can."_

"Great."

_The two got to work, pulling and yanking at the metal loop keeping him in place. Rachel growled at it, stealing some strength from her father's dimension as she heaved against the unrelenting metal._

"Come on!" _Jason grunted, teeth bared and his shoulders were_ this _close to giving out._

 _The metal snapped suddenly, depositing the teens unceremoniously to the floor. Jason recovered first, laughing breathlessly_. "Hell yeah!" _he cheered, wiggling through his arms. He slipped his hands to his front, Rachel grabbing the loop from the floor._

"Here," _she offered, weaving the metal through the chains of his cuffs. She twisted and eventually the metal gave way, her hands accidentally slipping. She brushed against Jason's briefly, the teen hissing and jumping away. "Sorry!" Rachel apologized quickly, clenching her hands to her chest._

_Jason twisted and frowned, looking at the scratch marks on his side._

_"How bad is it--?" Rachel was asking, rounding him. He pivoted away._

"Don't worry about it. Let's just go."

_"Jason--"_

"I said let's move!" _He slipped forward, peering through the slit in the tent flaps. Rachel moved to her position behind him, hunched over and waiting expectantly._ "Okay," _the young Robin began, satisfied when he didn't see anyone._ "Coast is clear. Stay behind me." _She nodded, already there._ "Go."

_.,.,.,.,.,.,.,_

_They slipped through the tent, Jason staying low and moving swiftly. Rachel couldn't see what he was, only the round tent he was being held in. She took special care to move like he did, though, stepping in his boot prints and carefully avoiding the empty air he was. It really gave her an appreciation for how well he and Dick had been trained, to slink through their environments so effortlessly._

_Moving forward, Jason nodded in a direction._ "That's where I last saw him. Our case should be in there, too. If the Bat is coming, that’s where he’ll land." _Rachel nodded, following his eye. Distantly, like looking through the fog, she could see the outline of a tent form. This one was significantly larger than Jason's and square shaped. She could sense two people inside, barely making out two fuzzy shapes._

_"I think I see two people inside," she informed, squinting at the vague shapes._

_Jason glanced back at her_. "You can?"

_"Well, kind of. I can't see anything except you and some..." She waved her hand. "...Shadowy shapes, but I think I can sense Dick inside that tent."_

_Jason looked back forward, a thoughtful crease to his brow._ "Huh. Kind of dope."

_"I know, right?" she grinned. He glanced back at her, rolling his eyes in amusement._

"Yeah, whatever. Just... don't go anywhere, I guess."

_Her hand moved to her side, where she could already feel more scratches cutting into her, deeper and longer than the last set. They didn't hurt, but she knew she'd be feeling them fully once she was back to reality. She swallowed and found Jason watching her curiously._

_"I'll stay as long as I can. But I don't know how much time we have."_

_Licking his lips, he looked away sharply. He didn't like the sound of that one bit, but was putting a champion's effort into not make her feel bad about it._ "Okay. Fine. Just, let me know _before_ , okay?"

_She nodded, promising. "I will."_

"Good. Then let's move." _He lifted himself slightly and ran off, Rachel hot on his heels. They didn't make it too far from his tent, though, before the teen whirled around, eyes spotting someone. An enemy. "Stay there!" he commanded to Rachel. Charging forward, he blocked and punched, taking the invisible man down cleanly and quickly._

_Rachel stood her ground, scared to move even an inch. She heard something shift in the sand and looked down to see boot prints forming. And going straight for Jason. "Hey!" she yelled, and the prints stopped. Rachel gathered power around her hand and swung. She couldn't see who she was fighting, couldn't feel the darkness around her hand or even hitting the person. But the prints disappeared and a person-shaped indent appeared in the sand a few yards away._

"Whoa!" _Jason ducked, glancing back at her curiously_. "Are you helping now?"

_The girl grinned tightly, shrugging at him. "I guess?"_

"Well don't stop on my account, just, watch where you point that thing."

_Rachel didn't have the foggiest notion of what he was seeing or talking about, but she nodded anyway. She wouldn't hurt him. At least, she'd really try not to. Her powers hadn't accidentally hurt any of her teammates in a while so hopefully this would be fine._

_Jason cleared a path and waved her forward._ "Come on!" _She tossed another person away (or at least thought she did) and sprinted after him. They made it halfway to the tent when a spotlight shone on them both suddenly. Rachel skidded to a stop, beaten down by the harsh light._

"Jason!" _she screamed, the young Robin turning to her._

"What?" _he asked, apparently not seeing or feeling the light like she was. He was lifted suddenly into the air as someone grabbed him from behind. He kicked and nailed another soldier in the gut, then headbutted the one holding him fiercely._ “Rachel, what's wrong with you?”

_The goth girl was crumpled into the sand, eyes squeezed shut and hands over her ears. The light got brighter, heavier, a sound that nearly deafened her pounding against her head. It thumped loudly, impossibly fast. Suddenly, she realized what it was, turning her eyes to the sky._

"Rache! Come on!" _Jason was urging. He took a punch to his back and went down to one knee._

_"He's here."_

"What?"

_Rachel found the craft, a spot on the horizon. A smile broke open across her face as she slowly rose to her knees. "Batman! He's here!" she screamed happily, pointing._

_Jason broke free from the soldiers beating on him, eyes snapping to the dark sky. He heard it too, the distant thumping of chopper blades._ "Son of a jack," _he gasped._

_Inside the tent, Dick screamed._

_The teens were in a dead sprint, bursting into the tent. Dick was attached to a low wooden post from behind, hyperventilating and moaning as the man before him yelled loudly. The man raised a large knife, blade pointed to Dick's throat._

_Rachel screamed, black flurry erupting from her._

Then suddenly, she was back in her room, the angry yell dying in her throat. Heaving, she looked around, finding herself halfway across her room, Gar crouching worriedly in front of her.

Horror stretched across her face, paling her fair skin.

" _Dick!_ ”

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

**NORTHERN BIALYA  
GENERAL YAZIM'S TENT**

The scream shook the rafters in Jason's brain, making him stumble. Suddenly, a door inside his mind slammed shut and he looked up as if seeing the world for the first time. Rachel was gone, her presence obliterated. No time to worry about that, though. Yazim was stumbling backward, and Jason spotted three long claw marks across his back, bleeding profusely. She must have gone straight for his liver.

Jason wasted no time, vaulting forward to attack the man. "You bastard!" he screamed. He snatched the metal object Yazim was clutching and plunged it into his eye. The man screamed, blood gushing from the wound.

It wasn't enough, though.

Jason gritted his teeth, kicking the man solidly in the chest. He fell flat on his back and suddenly Jason was over him, stomping hard onto his chest. He felt ribs break, heard the sternum crack, and watched as blood spurted from the man's mouth.

Still not enough.

Jason pounded his boot into the man's dick. There. That would do it.

"That's for hurting Dick, you fucker," Jason hissed quietly, his hands wrapped around the man's head. He jerked and General Who-Gives-A-Shit Yazim collapsed, dead.

"Jason?" Dick wheezed quietly and Jason did not like the state his voice was in. He leapt over Yazim, yanked the keys from the man's eye, and fell to his knees before Dick, shoving his worried expression into the man's immediate eyesight.

"Good news, asshole," he informed, cupping Dick's face in his palm. "Bruce is here. He's right outside, so we gotta go, yeah?" Dick slumped forward heavily, coughing loudly. Jason reached around him, forcing the key into the lock of his cuffs. They fell apart but Dick barely seemed to notice, wheezing violently on the floor.

Jason yeeted the keys somewhere, grabbing at Dick's face again. "Dick, come on, we don't have time for this, man." Gunfire sounded outside and Jason twitched, quickly realizing the men were shooting at Bruce's chopper. He turned back to the older Robin, whose lips were turning an unhealthy shade of blue.

The teen groaned. "Come on! I’m serious!" He pulled back and looked around. Dick needed something to focus on. His instincts snapped to the case, but they wouldn't need it now; Bruce was right outside, practically banging on their front door as he took (and returned from what it sounded like) heavy gunfire.

"Damnit!" The teen shot to his feet, padding in a tight circle. He lunged at the table, the pieces scattering. Just maps and charts, nothing helpful. It would need to be something he recognized, something loud and colorful and--

Jason froze, spotting it. "You've got to be kidding me," he chuckled. Storming around the table, he snatched that damn can of Fanta, cracked and bent and filled with sand, but still goddamn there.

"Dick!" he called, rushing back to the man's side. "Here! Look at corporate America's true marvel of engineering and calm the fuck down." Shoving the can into the man's face, he got under his shoulder and lifted.

Dick screamed and they collapsed to the floor as his legs gave out. "The hell--?" Jason snarled, thrashing at the air as he pulled himself off his back. He turned, an angry curse on his lips when he noticed the unnatural shape to Dick's shoulder.

The teen grinned darkly.

Oh, revenge was a _bitch_.

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

Nothing snaps a frayed mind back to reality like a shoulder being shoved back into its socket by a little gremlin who definitely enjoyed it way too much. The scream lodged itself in Dick's throat, choking him. He wheezed and gagged, falling to his elbows on the tent floor. It hurt but suddenly he could breathe again, he could think again.

Jason?

"You still with me, dude?" the teen was leaving over him, hand pressed between his shoulder blades.

Dick nodded. "What's going--" The crushed remains of a Fanta can suddenly overtook his vision. He blinked at it as Jason pulled him upright.

"Bruce is here. We gotta go."

Fanta?

"So you don't freak out on me again," the teen grunted, yanking at the tall man's arm. Dick followed shakily, swiping the can up and climbing unsteadily to his feet. Jason panted next to him, teeth bared in pain as he cradled a hand. "He's right outside!" he yelled over the gunfire. "All you gotta do is make it to the chopper! Six yards at most!"

Dick nodded.

"You good?" Jason asked, unconvinced.

Dick swallowed, looking the teen square in the eyes. "Let's go."

Jason nodded once and they were off. The area outside the tent was a warzone, soldiers taking cover behind anything they could, shouting and firing at a large chopper floating menacingly above them. The Bialyan flag was painted onto its side and Dick was in too much pain to even start with all the political complications _that_ had in store for them. Of course Bruce went and stole a fucking chopper.

The Robins ducked, finding meager shelter behind a pile of sandbags. As if there wasn't enough sand out here already.

" _HEY_!" Jason shouted, waving an arm at the chopper. "Bruce! Down here!"

Inside, Bruce spotted them immediately.

They couldn't see him past the glass, but they sure as hell could see the chopper turning to face them, letting a hail of bullets clear a path.

"Now! Go!" Dick was shoving and Jason sprung to his feet, taking off in impossibly quick strides across the sand. Dick, on the other hand, lunged at a soldier, knocking the man down with a punch to the jaw.

"Dick...!" Bruce warned from the chopper, watching in worry because his idiot son was _not_ about to do what Bruce thought he was. The man cursed wildly as Dick took the man's gun, returning fire to the soldiers aiming at Jason. "Goddamnit, Dick!" he seethed, throwing his headphones to the side as he scrambled to reach into the cabin. He pushed at the door. It slid open.

Jason watched from the ground, lungs heaving the desert air as the chopper's door slid open, a tactical rope ladder falling out. "Alright!" he cheered breathily. He pushed forward faster, pounding at the sand beneath him. Bruce was here. They were leaving!

In the compound, Dick's rifle clicked at him, empty. Cursing, he tossed it aside, sparing a glance at Jason and the chopper. A ladder hung tantalizingly close and Jason was making good ground, approaching it rapidly. The breath left him.

Jason, go.

_Jason, go!_

_JASON, GO!_

The teen leapt through the air, soaring through the dark desert sky. His hand grabbed the ladder and he scurried up it.

Jason made--

A bullet shot through the air and Dick's head snapped back.


	10. Chapter 10

" _NO!_ " Bruce shrieked from the chopper as Dick fell to the sand. He had seen enough death in his day, witnessed enough bloodshed, to know what a corpse looked like, and it looked an awful lot like his firstborn son, body collapsing limply to the red sand.

The craft jerked wildly, forcing Jason to cling to the ladder for dear life. He almost shouted at Bruce to hold it steady, but found his eyes being pulled back to the compound. Slowly, they landed on a body splayed out in the sand, a halo of red growing around its head.

"...Dick?" he breathed quietly because it wasn't him, it couldn’t be, he couldn't be dead, Bruce was here, they were leaving, he couldn't--

Jason was leaping from the ladder before he even realized he was doing. Bruce yelled at him to stop, but the teen pressed on. He pounded across the sand, bullets from the chopper taking down the remaining soldiers as he ran, racing to the body.

"No!" he whined, skidding to his knees by the corpse. "No no no no! Dick, don't you dare!" He looked over Dick's form, searching for the wound, the source of the blood and god there was so much blood--

Dick coughed, red droplets covering his chin and chest.

"Dick!" Jason shouted. The neck. Blood pumped from a hole in Dick's neck, coating the sand. The teen's hands wrapped around the wound, careful not to cut off Dick's air supply as he squeezed. "Stay with me, Dick! Don't you dare die on me!" he pleaded. He blinked tears from his eyes because he was _not_ going to cry. There would be no reason to, Dick would be _fine_ if Jason had to drag him back from Hell himself.

Dick gurgled, spitting up more blood. It seeped from the corner of his mouth, a river of dark red liquid. He was looking at Jason, forehead creased. He gaped, choking as the liquid filled his mouth and lungs.

Jason shook his head, unable to look at the sight. "I'm sorry," he keened quietly, head hung low. Dick coughed at him pleadingly, but Jason couldn't do it. The man was so pale, his skin already whiter than the dead’s.

Someone landed next to him and Jason looked up to see Bruce kneeling at Dick's other shoulder. "Dick," he whispered quietly. The older Robin's eyes flitted to him and he gargled again desperately, choking around the blood as he tried to make words. " _Shhh_ ," Bruce cooed softly, bringing a hand up to stroke his son's hair. The older Robin's eyes squeezed closed, body convulsing as he sobbed quietly at the touch. Bruce gently wiped at a tear slipping down his eldest’s cheek.

The man snatched Dick’s cold hand, squeezing reassuringly. The bones crunched together but Bruce kept the pressure steady, looking deep into the overwhelming emotions pulling at his son's face as he shuddered. He knew what this was like, the world slowly fading away. Dick would be getting cold soon, numb enough to dull the pain. At that point, only extreme pressures could break through the dark haze.

Bruce squeezed tighter.

Jason was watching him and the man knew he needed to look back, to reassure his second son that it would be alright. But he had never lied to them and couldn't bring himself to start now. Suddenly, Dick's whole body seized up, eyes flying open as he coughed out a fountain of blood.

"What's happening?" Jason asked, watching as Bruce slipped his hand around Dick's head, holding the base of his neck securely.

"His body is realizing what's happening to it," he informed, climbing on both knees and leaning over to look deeply into his son's eyes. "It's panicking."

"He's dying..." the teen gasped.

Bruce paused for just a moment, a minor hesitation, but it was all Jason needed for the damn to break. "Do something!" he shouted, begging to save Dick's life.

Bruce scooted closer, pulling Dick into his lap. "Easy, boy. Easy," he cooed softly. Dick was looking up at him, trembling in terror. His lips twitched but nothing came out. His lungs were too full of blood for him to talk. Bruce wiped at another tear. "Try to relax, son."

Son.

_"He adopted you?"_

_"He_ fostered _me. There's a difference."_

_"...This isn't about Bruce picking favorites. It's strictly legal, plain and simple."_

_"You can't spend your whole life waiting for Bruce to save your ass!"_

_"...He'll get over it."_

Jason's eyes snapped up. "Tell him you love him."

"He knows--"

"Bruce! Fucking tell him you love him, goddamnit! Tell him he's your son!"

"I--"

"Your _actual_ son, Bruce! Your legal, adopted son!" The teen shifted in the sand irritably. "Fucking adopt him right now before he dies thinking you don't care!"

That got a reaction, Bruce's confused stare shooting up to meet his. "What are you--"

Jason laughed at him sadly. "You have no idea how you never adopting him messed him up, do you?"

"I offered and he said--"

"Uh-uh!" Jason interrupted, cutting him off. "Don't you _dare_ point fingers here! Dick loves you, he _wants_ to be your son. But your head is too far up your own ass to see that - to see how much he wants to belong." Jason's eyes turned back to Dick, who was shaking and watching Bruce sadly. The teen quieted. "All he ever wanted was for you to be proud of him."

Bruce sighed, looking away. "I am," he replied quietly.

Jason could have punched him right in the teeth. "Don't tell me that! I'm not the own drowning to death in my own blood here!"

Bruce swallowed thickly, turning back to his firstborn. Dick's face started to go slack as the shock took hold. His body deflated, no longer struggling or shaking. Bruce smiled at him fondly.

Before he could form the words, Dick's chest gave one last heave, a weak cough bubbling from him. Falling limp, his eyes started to slip close, head tilting to the side.

"Dick?" Jason panicked, scrambling to him. "Dick! Dick, no!"

"Jason," Bruce said quietly. He reached, eventually finding Jason's shoulder with his large hand. He squeezed. "Let him go quietly, son."

"No! Fuck that!" The teen snatched Dick's hand from Bruce, grabbing the other from his side. He pressed them together - fuck he was so cold - and squeezed tightly. "Rachel!" he screamed. "Rachel - help him!"

In San Francisco, Rachel stared back, eyes and crystal glowing brilliantly with power. " _I'M HERE_ ," she replied.

Jason pulled in a breath. "Rachel, he needs you! Save him!"

She raised her arm, hand reaching out to him. " _I NEED YOU_."

Jason brought Dick's hands to his forehead. "Use me, whatever you need! Just do it!"

" _YOU ARE FORFEIT_." She clenched her fist.

Jason screamed, otherworldly power surging through him. Bruce frowned in surprise, leaning away. Blackness swirled around them. Jason looked up. His eyes were darker than black, empty and soulless as demonic energy leaked onto his face in tiny fractures.

"What's happening?" Bruce gasped, taken aback by the sight.

Slowly, red irises formed in Jason's eyes. Black whipped around them in a mighty whirlwind, sand being kicked up in the powerful gusts. The tents started collapsing, knocked over by the force.

Bruce looked back to see Jason's red eyes staring right at him. " _I'M SAVING HIM_ ," he answered in a thousand voices. Before Bruce could respond, Dick surged to life, mouth wide open in a silent gasp. The blackness drained into him, emptying itself into his throat.

His eyes snapped open and he rolled to the sight, coughing.

Instantly, the spell was broken. The black disappeared, leaving shredded tents and a spiral of displaced sand in its wake. Jason collapsed to his hands, panting. His arms shook, head spinning as infinite otherworldly power drained from him. A haggard cough got his attention, though, and he looked up, scrambling to Dick's side.

Bruce was already there, hand on his arm reassuringly as his firstborn hacked and heaved, sweaty face caked in red sand.

"Dick?" Bruce asked tentatively. The older Robin squeezed his eyes closed, nodding once into the sand. He was here. He was awake.

"Did it work?" Jason asked from the other side.

Bruce grinned. "Dick, how are you feeling?"

Jason frowned, eyes widening as everything sunk in. Wait, did it work?

"I'm... I'm okay," the older Robin breathed and suddenly life returned to Jason, who let out a triumphant holler, throwing himself onto the taller man.

"Whoa, easy, boys!" Bruce chuckled, backing away.

Dick _oofed_ with the unexpected weight. Fumbling, he rolled onto his back, blinking at Jason. "Jason?"

The teen's arms wrapped tightly around his neck. "Welcome back, old man," he cried quietly, face buried into the curve of Dick's spotless neck.

Dick chuckled at him. He slung his arms around the teen, squeezing him tightly in return. "I'm okay," he reassured quietly, stroking Jason's hair as the teen shuddered with silent sobs. "It's okay, it's okay, Jason. I promise."

"You're an asshole," the teen squeaked out.

Dick laughed. "Yeah, I know," he replied fondly. With one last squeeze, Jason reluctantly pulled back. He looked into Dick's large eyes, drinking up the color and life within them.

"For the record," he began, stabbing a finger into Dick's chest. "Worst bonding weekend ever."

The older Robin snatched him for another deep hug, arms clinging to him tightly.

Bruce cleared his throat patiently.

Jason moaned dramatically, muffled against Dick's chest. "Oh yeah. Dad's here too."

Dick released him, looking over to Bruce. His grin faltered. "Bruce, I--"

"Jason’s right," Bruce interrupted, grinning fondly. "You really are an asshole."

Dick exhaled sharply, chewing his lip and looking away. He scrubbed at his stubble.

Undeterred, Bruce continued: "He was right about something else, as well, though." The Robins turned to him. He smiled, patting them on their shoulders with both hands. "I am proud of you - both of you - and I should make expressing as such more of a habit."

They grinned at him because that was the most heartfelt Bruce Wayne ever got. And they would take it.

"Now," he brought his hand back, pulling himself to his feet. "Who's ready to leave?"

"Fucking _finally_!" Jason groaned, shooting to his feet. He waited just long enough for Dick to stumble upright before leading the way. "I call shotgun! Goodbye sand!"

Bruce slipped a shoulder under Dick's arm, supporting him easily. Rachel might have brought him back to life, but the worst of his injuries still lingered, making themselves known if he breathed too deeply or moved too fast. His body had been reset to a state he could manage and heal from naturally for the most part. Still, having the support of Bruce - both physically and emotionally - was a much-needed help.

Not that Dick ever doubted him, but the man was still plenty strong for his old age.

Which reminded him.

"Bruce, how old do you think Jason thinks you are?"

"DON'T YOU DARE, GRAYSON!" Jason demanded loudly.

"Hmm. An interesting proposition."

"Bruce, don't answer that! Dick, you keep your mouth shut or I swear to god--"

"He thinks you're seventy-three."

Bruce made a noncommittal noise. "Very interesting, indeed."

"Dick, you asshole! I am going to kill you!" Jason shrieked. Dick laughed, dodging the crumpled Fanta can that was hucked at his feet. "And this time, not even Rachel will be able to bring you back!"

Dick stopped, Bruce pausing to look at him. "Jason!" the older Robin barked. The teen froze immediately, turning to him. Bruce was impressed. Only for a few fleeting moments had he ever had either of them trained so well.

"What?" the teen whined.

Dick nodded pointedly to the can at his feet.

Jason shrugged, purposefully being difficult. "What about it?"

"We already went over this. You can't litter in the middle of the desert!"

"Oh, bite me!" Jason was launching forward suddenly, football tackling Dick to the ground. The older Robin laughed, playfully digging a fist into the teen's side as they rolled in the sand.

"Stop it, stop it!" Jason giggled, his tickle spot being abused ruthlessly.

Bruce pocketed his hands, watching fondly as his boys wrestled, play fighting like they were kids. Curious, he stooped and delicately retrieved the can from the ground, inspecting it curiously. Grape Fanta.

Someone yelled uncle and he looked up, finding it was only a ruse and Jason wrapped himself like a monkey around Dick's arm, pinning the limb in place.

For the first time in so many long, stressful hours, Bruce allowed himself a relieved sigh. His boys were alright, he was still intact, and - he glanced back to the compound - there were no remaining survivors to tell tale of the mysterious white men who kicked their asses.

He would deal with the Kurtan military and Bialya's enraged Queen another day. For now, it was time to enjoy the lives of his sons.

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

**TITANS TOWER  
17 HOURS LATER**

If Gar checked his watch one more time, Kori was going to incinerate his entire arm. They were all impatient, waiting anxiously for Dick and Jason to arrive from the airport. But the beast boy's nervous tick was going to send Kori up the wall. She swished the amber liquid in her glass, watching it spin lazily. The three of them had found themselves perched around the kitchen island - probably because it was the closest they could comfortably get to the front door - counting the seconds until the elevator doors swished open.

"How long?" Rachel whined, throwing her hands down exasperatedly. Her black nail polish could only occupy her for so long.

Gar went to look at his watch, but Kori quickly interrupted him. "Twenty-four minutes and fifty-three seconds." She side-eyed the kids, who were looking at her. "What?" she asked, returning their looks with a pointed one of her own. "You think you're the only ones counting?"

Gar sighed. "It's just that--"

"They're late," Rachel interrupted.

Gar turned to her. "No, not technically. Technically, Bruce said they would be here in about--"

Kori raised the glass to her lips. "It's officially been twenty-five minutes. They're late."

"I'm sure it's just L.A. traffic. You know how it is--"

The elevator dinged.

"Oh, thank god," the boy moaned, hopping off his chair to join the others as they rushed the door.

"Dick!" Kori breathed quietly, laying eyes on her boyfriend as the doors slipped open. He and Jason stood in the elevator, clothes pressed, hair washed, and wounds bandaged. Jason's right arm was in a sling, his hand wrapped tightly. Dick had a thick bandage around his neck and moved with a considerable stiff limp, but who cared? They were home, they were safe, and they were very much alive.

"Hey, guys," the older Robin greeted breathily as they stepped into the hallway. Kori was on him in a matter of strides, cupping his face tenderly in her long hands. He leaned into the tough, staring softly into her green eyes. Rachel and Gar approached Jason, bombarding him with questions.

Kori looked deeply into Dick's eyes. He gazed into hers right back, affection sparkling within them. "I missed you," he said. She barked out a quiet laugh because how dare he? Put her through all of that and that's all he said to say for himself?

"Come here," she commanded gently, scooping him close for a deep hug.

He winced ever so slightly. She immediately pulled back, searching his eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Just a little sore."

"Dick..!"

He chuckled, raising his hands in preemptive surrender. "It's just a few bruises, I swear! I'll let you give me a thorough examination later."

She gave him a face and he realized rapidly how unintentionally sexy he had made that sound. He loved Kori, he loved being _with_ Kori, but just the thought of late-night sexy times right now left him utterly exhausted. He swallowed.

"Kori, I--"

"No, don’t," she grinned brightly, returning to stroking his cheek. "You must be exhausted."

He so owed her for this one and he knew it. "Thank you."

The kids started to walk off and Dick's eyes flicked to them. "Hey, wait a minute," he called, the trio turning curiously. He broke away from Kori (and already missed her), squatting in front of his two youngest.

"Dick?" Rachel asked, confused.

"I'm sorry I made you all worry," he said softly. "What happened Friday never should have happened. It was preventable, but by the time I figured out something was wrong it was already too late."

Kori shifted behind him, barely managing to reign in her emotions. He would have a lot of explaining to do later.

He worked his jaw and turned back to the kids just in time to see Rachel look away, liquid emotions filling her eyes. "Hey," he cooed softly, stroking an errant curl back to its proper place. "Don't cry. It's okay. I'm okay, Jason is okay." The teen nodded emphatically. "Besides, I heard you two are the only reason we managed to get out in one piece."

Gar's chuckled shyly. "Yeah, we kind of set up some weird seance circle in Rachel's room in paint, and lit a bunch of candles and--"

"You _what_?!" Kori gaped.

"And I read a bunch of spells from her old books and--"

"They aren't spells!" Rachel laughed, wiping at her eye. "They, well, they were supposed to help me focus."

Dick was watching her, intrigued. "And did they?"

She grinned, looking back to Jason. They shared a knowing look. "I think so, yeah."

Dick made a face, nodding. "Well, maybe next time don't paint the carpet--"

"Unbelievable!" Kori sighed.

"But good work all the same. I'm glad you two decided to help. We couldn't have made it out there without you. Oh!" He raised a finger suddenly, turning back to his bag. "Which reminds me. Rachel, I didn't forget about your souvenir." Jason clapped a hand over his mouth, barely containing a smirk.

The girl rolled her eyes at Dick loudly. "You do realize I was just kidding about that, right? I don't want some stupid mug or something from the middle of the desert."

Dick ignored her, failing to hide a mischievous smirk from his face. "Nonsense! I said I would deliver, and I did." He turned back, revealing a metal lump that, in a former life, was once called a can of Grape Fanta. Red sand leaked out. Jason barked with laughter at Rachel and Gar's horrified faces.

Dick grinned widely, pushing the can into Rachel's hand. "As promised. A jar - well, a can - of 100% genuine sand. Technically, though, this is Kuratan sand, not Bialyan. But I've been there and I promise it's all the same."

Rachel covered her mouth, trying to contain giggles as he looked at the mangled thing. Gar let out a low whistle, rotating it delicately.

"What did you guys do to this? Other than, you know, survive a plane crash and get lost in the desert for a day."

"That can saved our lives!" Jason informed proudly.

"We were not _lost_ ," Dick groaned, winking playfully at Rachel.

Gar waved him off - "Yeah, sure" - and turned to Jason. "How could a _can_ possibly save your life?"

The teen pranced forward, looping an arm around the other boy's shoulders. "Well, let me tell you, Garfield, in the desert, everything is crucial. You make one little error - a tiny little mistake - and, that's it. You're done-zo," he explained triumphantly, escorting the other boy down the hall. Rachel clutched the can and followed quietly.

Dick frowned at her in concern, watching them walk off. He felt Kori rub his shoulder and looked at her. "He going to be okay?" she wondered, eyes pointed at Jason worriedly.

He waved her off, standing. "Who, Jason? He'll be fine. Probably have some troubling sleeping for a bit, though. And should definitely watch his pain killer intake.”

She nodded. "When will it hit him?"

"Soon." He watched the retreating form of his Robin with a sad sigh. "And like a train wreck. But he'll get through it. He's a strong kid."

She hummed knowingly, gently tangling her arm around his.

He smirked at her lovingly. "And what about you? Hope we didn't ruin Ladies Weekend."

A haughty laugh erupted from her, boots clipping as they strolled down the hall. "Oh, please. It's not every day two of your best friends make the news and potentially start an international conflict. You two were the talk of the town."

Stopping, he turned to her, large hands finding her long ones and squeezing. "I'm sorry, Kori. I..." He looked away, swallowing down a lump of emotion. "I knew something was off as soon as we met the pilot. It was a last-minute personnel change; I should have at least cleared it with Bruce before we took off, but by then it was too late and--"

"Hey," she shushed quietly. He looked back to her, finding her eyes understanding and kind. "Shit happens, okay? Look, if they wanted to take you down, they would have found a way. They have missiles. They could have used them."

"Jee, thanks."

She pressed. "You know what I mean. You can't keep blaming yourself for everything, Dick. It's not healthy."

He knew what she meant and he knew she was right. But those kind sentiments got lost on the way to his overactive self-critic like they always did. "Okay," he grinned at her, pretending it was all okay.

She didn't buy it for a second, but agreed to forget about it until another day.

They kept walking and he nodded the direction the kids had wandered off to. "What about Rachel? How was she?"

"Worried out of her mind, how do you think? We all were."

"Right, sorry--"

"Don't." She pivoted to him sharply. "Stop apologizing - we _just_ went over this. We were worried, of course we were, because we care about you two. And how we feel is not something you should apologize for. Ever."

He couldn't help the chuckle that came from him. He blushed, looking away.

"Okay?" she pressed.

"Okay! Okay, god, you don't have to beat me with it."

She smirked, smoothing out the shoulder of his shirt, looping her arms around his neck. "Well, apparently, I do."

He drank in the green of her eyes like it was the last color he would ever see, wrapping himself around her waist and guiding her close. "And I'm forever in your debt. How will I ever repay you?"

She frowned, making a show of thinking it over. "How about I get back to you?"

"Well, don't keep me waiting too long. After all, I distinctly remember it was _someone_ who had told me that if I got into any trouble out there, she would personally come after me and drag my ass back home."

Kori chuckled knowingly and he about melted. "Hmm, think I like the sound of this person. She sounds hot."

"She is." Finally, Dick leaned in, closing the space between them with a sweet kiss. Kori smiled into it, matching his tenderness with her own. The time would come for hot passion, she knew that. But for right now, Dick just needed to be coddled and reminded that he was home. And he was safe.

They broke apart quietly, and he stared into her eyes. "I love you."

"Love you too."

"And I missed you."

She stole a quick peck to his lips. Okay, maybe there was time for a little passion. "I missed you too, lovebird."

He made a face like he'd just accidentally found a pepper seed hidden in his teeth. "Lovebird?" he questioned.

She laughed at him. "You don't like it."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to." One last quick peck and she was turning away. "Go get some rest, Dick. I'll go check on Jason and the kids."

"Thanks!" he called after her. She winked at him.

Alone in the great room, Dick took a moment to look around, taking in all the small details he was sure not too long ago he'd never get to see again. It wasn't out of the ordinary, to walk out the front door knowing you might not be coming back. And, up until recently, he had been fine that. No one would have missed him, after all. He didn't have anyone or thing to leave behind.

What he had said to Jason back in the Humvee, though, right before being informed Bruce was coming, rang through his head. Not too long ago, he would have been fine with death. Well, not fine, but he hadn't had anything to really miss. Now, though, now he had the whole world to lose. Kori, Rachel, Gar. Yes, even Jason. And Donna and Dawn, and all of the old Titans.

He had spent his whole life in a daze, trying to fight against a current of bad luck and worse decisions. But now, with the new Titans, his feet were finally on solid ground. There would still be troubles - he knew Jason was going to crash hard and he himself still had to deal with what Yazim had done to him - but he felt proud of his team, his Titans, and even a little bit of himself. They would overcome.


End file.
